Thole
by elecktrum
Summary: Before her reign in Narnia the White Witch made certain promises to the Ettin Giants in return for their services. When the Ettin crown prince comes to collect it's not Jadis who pays the price for deceit, but Peter.
1. The Stone Crown

**Thole  
**by elecktrum

Disclaimer: Narnia and its characters are the property of CS Lewis, Walden Media, and Disney. I'm just borrowing them and I promise to give them back when I'm done. Until the next story hits me, of course. All quotes at the start of the chapters are from Seamus Heaney's 2000 translation of _Beowulf._

My thanks go out to Elexandros for holding my hand and to Almyra and Anastigmat for kicking the tires and lighting the fires. I would also like to thank the1hobbit for her adorable and inspiring artwork. All of you ladies are amazing and I'm in total awe of each of you!

This tells the tale of Peter's awful spring immediately following "Into the West" and "They Also Serve." I won't be updating this story as quickly as I normally do simply because I'm wrestling with a world-class case of writer's block. The story is coming along, but oh, so slowly.

**Chapter One: The Stone Crown**

'They sang then and played to please the hero,  
words and music for their warrior prince,  
harp tunes and tales of adventure . . .'

- _Beowulf_, lines 1062-1064

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

". . . and King Frank made her a mazer carved from the branch of a hornbeam tree and every morning through spring and summer and autumn and winter Queen Helen put a pebble into the bowl to count the days until a whole year had gone by -"

"How did she know it was a year?"

"Peterkins!" exclaimed my brother. "Don't interrupt the High King! The Centaurs told her."

"But how did they know?"

"They were already wise when Aslan called them into being, unlike some Foxes I know. Now shush!"

"Thank you, Edmund. So. At the end of the first year, on New Year's Day, Queen Helen counted the pebbles in the bowl and found she had three hundred, ninety-six of them, which she divided into twelve piles of three-and-thirty and if you don't hold your questions until the end, Peterkins, I'll never finish the history lesson. So Narnia's calendar is three hundred, ninety-six days long, with each of the twelve months having three-and-thirty days. The new year starts on the first day of spring, which is the very first day of the month of . . . ?"

I looked at the young Fox riding in front of Edmund as he tried hard to remember the names of the months, his little face scrunched up as he wracked his limited memory.

Master Peter Fox was the third kit and only son of Dog Sir Giles Slyashlar Fox and his charming wife from the southern swamps, Vixen Lady Marion Fox. Born out of season on the first day of winter, he and his two sisters had been raised in Cair Paravel since the weather had been too severe for them to return to their home in the Southern Marches. Giles and Marion were very popular in the royal court and a great fuss had been raised over the birth of the kits. Recognizing early that a palace full of doting servants and nobles would go far towards spoiling any child, Marion had ruthlessly cracked down on the three kits in the fashion typical for her kind. The end result was three very mannerly, respectful, sweet-tempered children. The two vixens, Helene and Sarai, were perfect little ladies who adored all things lacy and fluffy and followed Susan everywhere. The only dog of the litter, Peter, who for some reason his parents named after me, had been mortified to be born third and took every opportunity to remind the world at large that he was the eldest _son_ of Sir Giles and his foremost goal in life was to become a knight of Narnia. In appearance he favored his mother, having far more black on him than his sisters, but in every other way he was his father's child. Early on, before he could even talk, it had been decided to saddle him with a nickname to avoid confusion. I had immediately quashed all suggestions of Pete or Petey or Peers. We were at a bit of a loss until Edmund dubbed him Peterkins - a name, I suspected, he would have dearly loved to use on me if he thought for an instant he could have gotten away with it.

"Quickening!" Peterkins declared with as much authority as his high-pitched voice could muster.

"Close!" I shook my head ruefully. I ducked down to avoid some low branches just as the tree's Dryad moved them out of my way. I smiled and waved my thanks. "After Quickening."

Knowing we'd wait in vain otherwise, Edmund leaned over and whispered in his ear, pretending to duck under a branch as he did so. Peterkins perked up and said, "Mayblossom!"

"Correct! Well done, Master Fox," I complimented. Edmund was smiling. "Now stop dancing around like that or Phillip won't carry you anymore. And if you fall off I'll have to explain to your father, my dear friend why I let his only son come to injury."

He quieted down, balancing on the saddle before Edmund. I would have carried him but Jett tended to shy when she felt him move about and she was already nervous about something she smelt on the breeze. Phillip was far more tolerant of having small Animals bounce around on his back.

"So. King Frank took one pebble from each pile and he brought them to the Dwarf smiths. He asked them to make the queen a new crown using the pebbles. The Dwarfs made her a crown all in gold and silver set with the plain little pebbles and it became known as the Stone Crown. She wore that crown every year for the celebration of the new year. That's why so many pictures in books and tapestries and stained glass you'll see Queen Helen with a gray crown. People began to think the whole thing was made of stone. And that's why the constellation Helen's Crown has twelve stars in it."

Here Edmund chimed in. "I know what you're about to ask, Peterkins. You're about to ask, 'But King Peter, isn't Helen's Crown called the Herald of Winter?' To which my brother the High King would make reply, 'It is indeed, my dear and clever little Fox, but on the first of Mayblossom, Helen's Crown dips down behind the horizon and is not seen again until the end of autumn.'"

I laughed as Edmund exaggerated our voices. Peterkins, who clearly had not been about to ask anything of the kind, looked very impressed at his own ingenuity. He was keenly intelligent - almost alarmingly so - very observant, and consumed by curiosity over everything unfamiliar. All in all he was very good company and fun to have along. An idea struck him and his ears perked up as he asked, "Kings' Day is in Mayblossom, isn't it?"

I smiled, reaching over to pat Jett's neck and try to sooth her nerves. "Of course it is. Do you know why?"

Peterkins thought it over and had to admit, "No."

"Because King Edmund's birthday and my birthday are both in that month and Kings' Day falls exactly between them. Edmund's birthday is actually on New Year's Day, what the Centaurs call May Day, and my birthday is sixteen days later. So I'm not _quite_ three years older."

"And the Lion knows a week cannot go by without having _something_ to celebrate in Narnia," Edmund added sarcastically.

I couldn't help but chuckle, for the holiday really had no point. "No, it can't. So that, Peterkins, is the story of Narnia's calendar. Of course, Archenland and Calormen have different notions to mark the passing of days. Archenland starts its new year a sennight after Christmas and Calormen's new year starts on the first full moon of winter. But we start on the day Aslan called the world into being."

"Why are they different?" he wondered, snapping at a fly buzzing around his head. Unlike his father but like his sisters, he had trouble keeping still. We lived in the hope that he'd outgrow that trait.

"Because they're different countries and different people," Edmund replied, catching and pinning him before he tumbled off the Horse's back. "They don't have the same history as Narnia, so why should they have the same calendar?"

Suddenly Jett tossed her head and whinnied, fighting the reins. Phillip immediately drew away as I struggled to calm her. "Whoa! Whoa, Jett! Easy girl," I soothed. She finally stilled, her stiff legs planted firmly on the earth.

"Phillip, do you smell anything?" Edmund asked. Peterkins immediately sniffed the air, but at his age I was fairly certain the only things he could recognize would be his parents and food.

"No," said the Horse. He tested the breeze again. The breeze was gentle and from the north, and to me it smelt faintly of spring and the pine forest on the edge of the Northern Marches. "Perhaps she senses something that I cannot."

I sighed, still trying to reassure the mare, fairly certain I could guess what was bothering her so. We were just south of the Lantern Waste, riding forth on patrol with a troop of soldiers as escort. There had been rumors of strange events in the area around what remained of the White Witch's castle - strange shapes, odd noises, and the like. The tales were only rumors because nothing - no Animals, no Magical Creatures, no Walking Trees or Divine Waters would go within a few miles of the place, especially at night. Soldiers checked the area on a regular basis, but even they were hesitant about approaching the ruined castle. One story persisted, though: the body of water surrounding the castle, Lake Asher, was receding. Something about the area had Jett agitated and I knew well enough not to dismiss her reactions.

I glanced at the sun as it dipped towards the horizon and then at the armed escort drawing in closer. The area was sheltered and as comfortable as any, and we were hardly in a rush.

"Let's make camp," I decided, dismounting. "Vimal, we'll stop here," I called to the Satyr lieutenant.

Peterkins helped by getting underfoot as we set up camp for the night. Small tents were pitched, food prepared, and the remainder of the troop caught up with us. Talking Animals from the surrounding wood joined us, some bringing food to share, others coming to mooch. A group of Fauns brought wine and lyres and pipes and we had music and song. Everyone that came was asked about the rumors surrounding the castle, but no one had anything to add. Anything useful, I should say, until a Bear, thoughtfully scratching his belly all the while, commented that fishing had fallen off in the River Ashera, which fed into the lake before making its way to join the Great River. Neither Ed nor I knew what to make of that so we just added it to the list of strange things surrounding the castle.

As we waited on our evening meal, I played a round of chess against Peterkins with Edmund moving the pieces for him. We made it a point to include him in many activities, knowing the experience would do him good in the future if he chose to follow in his father's paw prints. He lost spectacularly despite my best efforts to tone down my game. It seemed he was only interested in moving his knights, not actually following anything like a plan of attack. He lost well enough, looking very surprised when I cornered him in checkmate when I could avoid it no longer.

Luckily he didn't get a chance to brood because just then the two Boars in our little troop, Boris and Shikov, were joined by a local Boar named Uri and they performed a traditional dance for us called a boreen. Most breeds of Talking Animals have their own styles of dance and song, but boreens were common to just about everything with four feet on the ground, with allowances made for size, speed, and tails. The three Boars stepped and swayed in unison, turning in time with the music, grunting and snuffling aloud and stamping their hooves. I laughed and clapped while beside me Edmund muffled a snicker, covering his mouth as he turned away with a snort. Peterkins, still in my brother's lap, moved his paws and rocked to the music until Edmund nudged him and he slunk over to get a better view.

I glanced over at Edmund. He kept his head ducked down and his shoulders were shaking. He was trying very hard and unsuccessfully not to giggle at the sight of dancing pigs. For some reason seeing Animals dance struck him as supremely funny every time he saw it, and I tended to find him and his amusement more entertaining than the Animals. I gave him a shove and he deliberately toppled over, catching himself on his elbow as he gave in and laughed until he was spent. Finally he mastered himself and managed to watch the rest of the dance with only a few lapses.

"Are you with me tomorrow?" I asked a little while later as we sat down to a meal of game and bread and stewed nettles (which I wouldn't touch unless I was starving again and even then I'd have to think twice about it).

Edmund poured us some wine, saying quietly, "If it's all the same I'd rather not. I don't ever want to see that place again." He glanced at me a little nervously and I smiled to reassure him, not about to pressure him.

"All right. Then why don't you go check on the Tree of Protection while I check the castle and we'll meet at Beaversdam in the morning? That way we can visit with the Beavers and report back to Susan and Lucy that all's well."

"And escape before dinner?" he asked hopefully. Mrs. Beaver, we had discovered long ago, had cooking skills that extended only as far as fish and toast despite her enthusiasm as a hostess.

"Before lunch," I promised, much to his relief. I looked past him and sighed. "Peterkins! Use your napkin to wipe your face, not your paws . . . or your tail, Master Fox!"

Edmund pursed his lips, lifting his wine to hide his laugh. "You wonder why Lady Marion was so happy to see the back of him?"

I shook my head, turning back at my brother as I held the bridge of my nose in the hopes of avoiding a headache. "Not for an instant, good my brother."


	2. Without Defiance Sent

Once again, my thanks to Almyra and Anastigmat for their help! And be warned, dear readers, things turn nasty!

**Chapter Two: Without Defiance Sent**

_'The wide water, the waves and pools  
were no longer infested once the wandering fiend  
let go of her life and this unreliable world.'_

-_Beowulf_, lines 1620-1622

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

We parted company at dawn. Edmund rode Phillip and they were accompanied by six soldiers of our escort. They turned northeast to check on the Tree of Protection and its Dryad guardians while I took the remaining six soldiers and Peterkins to the White Witch's castle. I made sure that Xati, that fiery Centaur mare, went with Edmund and I kept Vimal with me. I had intended for Peterkins to accompany my brother, but when he realized I was going to see a ruined castle and Edmund was going to look at an apple tree he made his preference known and really, what choice could any adventurous, would-be knight make? The little Fox had no notion of the Tree's importance or of the vital role it had played in saving Edmund's life or the price that role had extracted from both of Narnia's kings.

Truth be told, it was a price we were both still paying. I had returned from adventuring into the Western Wild at the very beginning of Yule half-starved and terribly weak and in less than a week after returning home I had been laid low by pneumonia. Edmund likewise had been underweight and struggling to overcome the lingering effects of the deathless spell Jadis had cast upon him. Where I had endured physical hardship and exposure to the elements, he had endured ceaseless torment to his body and mind. We both were still fighting to maintain a healthy weight and it was only within the past two months that Oreius had allowed us back to the training grounds. The winter had been bitterly cold and the good general refused to allow us outside unless necessary, having had quite enough of sick kings since the first anniversary of Beruna.

This excursion marked the first time either of us had been out of sight of Cair Paravel, our sisters, our valets, and Oreius since Yule. Tired with being penned up in the palace, Edmund and I had insisted on checking on the rumors that trickled in with other troops on patrol. We bolted free at the first opportunity, barely bothering to pack more than our swords and our chess set. We might not have succeeded at all if Oreius had not been suffering from a terrible, late-season cold. I strongly suspected that the general had saturated the area with troops just because of our presence. I didn't mind and I was sure Edmund felt exactly the same way since we were both willing to do anything to keep the other safe.

"Don't let him ride roughshod all over you," Edmund warned from atop Phillip's back, pointing at Peterkins. The little Fox was pestering Vimal as the Satyr checked his weapons.

"Shan't," I replied, extending my hand. He clasped my wrist, smiling down at me, his expression saying everything he didn't need to say aloud: _be careful, Don't get into trouble. I love you, so please don't do anything stupid. _I returned the smile, squeezing his arm gently and saying, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

He nodded, releasing my wrist. I'll admit I watched him leave with a sense of trepidation. To me he still seemed so small, so frail. I wasn't thinking of how roundly he had beaten me at archery practice the other day or of the rather spectacular bruises I had received while we dueled last week. I stared at Edmund's straight back and high-held head as he rode slowly away and all I could think of was my little brother crawling into my bed almost every night this past winter, shivering with cold and in want of reassurance that I really was back and he was free of Jadis. I wasn't sure which of us needed the other more despite the fact that I was the eldest of us. Susan and I never seemed to forget Lucy's youth, but too often I think we overlooked the fact that Edmund was not much older than she.

I gave myself a little shake, snapping out of my reverie. Great Lion, if I was this bad with my brother what kind of overprotective father would I make some day? As if on cue Edmund glanced back at me. My expression must have betrayed me because he smirked and shook his head, rolling his eyes before turning around again. I was a hopeless worrier and we both knew it. I smiled back and waved, standing there until he was out of sight.

"High King?"

I carefully looked around and up and finally down to find the speaker. It was a habit we kings and queens had all gotten into as we tried to pinpoint subjects that ranged in size from Hummingbirds to Elephants and everything in between. We tried to be subtle about it since some Animals were touchy about their size. Boris, that doughty hog warrior, stood patiently at my feet.

"Good morn, cousin," I greeted him fondly. "What say ye?"

"Lieutenant Vimal reports that we are ready to move out upon your order," he grunted.

"Consider it given, Boris. Where is Peterkins?"

Peterkins was happily learning how to tell the difference between a Faun's hoof mark and that of a Boar and a Satyr. The ground was moist and held the marks well. Chambris Apis, one of two Bulls in our party, was pointing out the various aspects of cloven hooves to the kit. Peterkins was very excited and repeated everything he had just been told, little realizing someday soon his nose would be far better for tracking than his eyes.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

We arived at the remains of Jadis's castle just past noon, deliberately approaching from the southern valley along the path of the Ashera River to check the levels of water and speak with the locals. A few people we spoke to mentioned the sudden lack of good fishing, Bears and Big Cats in particular. They hadn't noticed any other real difference in the river, but the sudden drop in the lake and the reports of odd shapes and sounds at night concerned them.

I had only seen the castle once before, the night we had arrived in Narnia, and I had mistakenly believed it rose up from the ground. It wasn't until the end of the Hundred Year Winter that I learned what I had thought was a vast field was actually a lake frozen solid and the castle had been built on an island towards the edge. Called Asher, the lake was one of the very few open bodies of water in Narnia and the largest. It was fed by a stream off of the Ashera River as it wound down from the mountains in the northwest before joining the Great River just outside the Lantern Waste.

Standing on the banks of the lake and gazing at the ruined foundation, the castle looked nothing like what I remembered, for the majority of the building had been made of ice that was still melting away with the return of summer. Though it was disappearing with glacial speed I was glad to see it go. The lake was surrounded by low hills that shot up into tall granite mountains, the tail end of a chain of mountains that wound their way far to the north. Only grasses and low shrubs grew near the water - no Dryads lived on the banks and Talking Animals avoided the place. It seemed as haunted as Beruna.

Jett nudged me, looking for attention and reassurance and I petted her nose and neck, talking softly. She was nervous but she also trusted me and I knew that was the only reason she hadn't bolted away.

"Just a little longer, Jett," I promised. "We'll be leaving soon, girl."

I was glad I had her with me and not Phillip because I knew the Talking Horse would have been beside himself with anxiety right now. Phillip did not believe still water could be trusted around me. Running water was not a problem for him, but lakes, pools, puddles, and probably my bathtub were naught but sources of trouble and to be avoided at all costs. According to Phillip it wasn't me that couldn't be trusted by the water, it was the water that couldn't resist accosting me in one form or another.

"King Peter!" called Vimal from the lake's edge.

I secured Jett's reins to a low bush. Lonn, a Faun archer, lingered close by to the mare, talking to her all the while as he scanned the low hills surrounding the lake. I waded through the knee-high grass and weeds to join Vimal and Ahmen. Behind me I could hear Peterkins shouting as he chased dragonflies and the rest of the guards fanned out around us.

Young as he was, Ahmen Apis was still a Bull and therefore huge and he had churned the ground to grassy mud. I put a hand on his side for balance as we looked at the edge of the lake. Even to my inexpert eyes I could see that the water line had receded a good four or five inches and the stranded plants were surrounded by mud of a different color and texture than the stuff on the shore. Four or five inches may not seem like much until you consider the vast surface of a lake. Then it turns into an incredible amount of water to lose in just a few days time.

"If the Ashera hasn't flooded, where did the water go?" I wondered.

Ahmen was sniffing at the lush spring grass, intent on the mud. He chewed a mouthful of the grass then spit out the foamy mouthful with a sound of disgust.

"Well?" pressed Vimal.

"Don't eat it, sirs," warned the Bull slowly as if the lieutenant and I had been about to tuck in. "The castle's ice is still poisoning the earth and water."

I looked around. Despite the beautiful day there was something sinister in the air, though I couldn't tell if that was due to the present problem or some lingering enchantment from the White Witch. The nearest tree was miles away and even dumb beasts avoided this spot for the most part. Lovely as the setting was, for Narnia this place was practically a desert.

"It will be years before anyone wants to live around here again. Not that I blame them." I sighed. "I hate to suggest this, good sirs, but shall we look to the castle?"

"_We_ shall," said Vimal, and I knew exactly what Oreius had ordered. "You, Sire, and Peterkins will await our report."

I opened my mouth to argue with the Satyr, then shut it again. It was frustrating at times to be a king, especially when your entire army willingly followed the example set by its overprotective general. I supposed this was how all my younger siblings felt towards me on occasion.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

My escort and I moved along the edge of the water towards the castle, alert for more signs of change to the lake and anything that might prove itself dangerous. A rough causeway made of rock connected the island to the shore and thence to a narrow road that wound between the hills, finally leading to a gap in the mountains. I studied the ugly building as Vimal, Lonn, and a Civet named Tyxy picked their way across the uneven causeway. A pang of envy coursed through me as I watched them reach the island and scout around the icy ruins, but I knew better than to try to override Oreius. Fool that I was, I wanted to see the castle for myself.

The fabulous ice structure I had only seen from a distance had been built around a lower, smaller, and much older foundation of dark stone. By now most of the ice was gone and what was left was worn and dirty and retained none of its former glory. Even so, the long shadows it cast on the shore seemed colder than they should and gave me a vague sense of the unnatural. None of us lingered in the shadows while there was sunshine to be had.

I smoothed Jett's nose, clucking to her and trying to keep her calm. She pulled at the reins, shifting about. Peterkins was wise enough to stay well away from her hooves, finally climbing atop a nearby rock. I cast him a swift glance and said,

"Good my Fox, do not fall."

He cocked his head, curious, and almost slid off his mossy perch for want of attention to what he was doing. "Why do you say that, King Peter?"

"Because I've seen you balance."

I counfounded him, for that was not what he meant at all.

"No, I mean . . . why do you say 'my good' backwards?"

I smiled and touched a finger to his little nose. "In Narnia, it's a way of saying you love someone. Or at least you like them a lot."

"But why?"

I gave him a quizzicle look, deliberately misunderstanding. "Why do I want to tell someone I love them?"

He giggled, turning a complete circle in his childish embarrassiment. "No! Why do you say it like that? It's all out of order!"

"Love does that to you."

Peterkins laughed harder, flopping onto the rock. Jett paced nervously and I smoothed her neck, grinning at his amusement before I started to explain, "It's from a long time ago."

He sobered up a bit, sitting up with his bushy tail held high. "As long ago as the Stone Crown?"

"Not that far. But a princess said it to the boy that she loved so that he would know every time she used those words out of order that way she was actually saying 'I love you, Hal.' There's a very nice song about it called _Good My Hal._ King Edmund knows all the words. Ask him about it when you see him next."

I was setting my brother up, of course. I knew for a fact Edmund knew all the words to the song, bit it was fairly high on his list of things to forget. Edmund had an excellent ear for music and a good voice, much to his annoyance, and he remembered every song we'd ever learned.

Ahmen let out a loud huff, clearly displeased that our party had splintered further and Chambris, his cousin, snorted in agreement. With the exception of Peterkins, all the Animals around me were uneasy. Boris kept sniffing the air and he came close to where I was trying to keep Jett calm, his ears and tail held high.

"Something's not right, King Peter" he rumbled, his deep voice full of concern. "I can feel it all the way down to my bristles."

I certainly couldn't argue with that. I surveyed the surroundings, likewise feeling something was off but not sure what it might be. The clouds still rode above on the cool breeze from the north, the lake still lapped at the muddy shores, the air still smelled of grass and pine, yet something had changed for the worse. Jett neighed in nervous agitation and fought my hold. Behind me, the Apis cousins pawed the dirt. Of the three soldiers exploring the castle there were no signs.

"Move away from the lake, Sire," Chambris ordered.

I wasn't about to disagree. I stuffed Peterkins under my arm and tried to lead Jett away. Much to my surprise,she refused to move. Boris let out a low moan of displeasure as Ahmen and Chambis edged closer to me. I could feel their unease and I hauled on Jett's bridle desperately. She shied and tossed her head, her eyes wide with fear as she let out throaty moan.

"Come on, girl!"

There was a muffled sound from the island, the start of a cry cut off before it was formed. I gasped, almost losing my grip on horse and Fox.

"Run!" Boris squealed. "King Peter, run! Run!"

The mare let out a horrible scream of panic, yanking out of my hold and dragging me to the ground. I dropped Peterkins and sprawled in the grass as Jett bolted away. I scrambled back up as hideous roars rose up behind me. Whirling about, I staggered back a step and gasped in shock.

Three Giants were lumbering across the causeway, their war clubs held high and their faces murderous.

"PETER!" I screamed. I cast about for the small Fox desperately. "Peter, run! RUN! Find Edmund! Run!"

I saw a flash of red in the grass and nothing more. There was naught else to do but follow my own orders and run, not that I or any of us had a chance to outrun Giants. Their ambush had worked perfectly and why not? I was deep inside Narnia, what would attack the High King in his own land? I raced back between the low hills as fast as my legs would carry me, panic robbing me of breath and speed. The Apis cousins flanked me though I knew they could move much faster than me. Behind us came a malicious laugh and a high-pitched cry and I knew Boris was dead.

"Faster!" ordered Ahmen, then dropped away, whirling to face our three pursuers. With a terrible bellow I heard him charge and moments later I screamed in terror and fury as I heard the club land, killing the brave Bull. I skidded to a stop, yanking Rhindon free of its sheath as I faced the Giants. I was shocked to only see two of them. What of the third? Chambris stumbled to a halt beside me.

"NO!" he cried, immediately setting himself between me and the Giants. "Run, King!"

Too late. Chambis didn't even get a chance to charge before a club the size of a tree trunk dashed him to the ground, dead in one blow. I had no way of knowing if they intended to kill or capture me, but I was already moving, I had my sword in hand, there was no escape - I attacked.

I had never fought a Giant before. I had no idea of what to expect, but I kept a sharp eye on that club. The Giant made a grab for me and instantly regretted it as I spun to the outside and brought Rhindon down in a mighty arc along the length of his bare forearm, slicing him open. He screamed and clutched the wound and I went for his legs. His leggings gave him some protection, but I slashed across both his exposed knees. Dark blood stained the ground and he fell. I didn't hesitate, but tried again to escape.

I had no chance. None at all. The ground beneath my feet shook with each step they took and I hadn't gone a dozen yards before I was knocked down from the rear. Rhindon skidded away from my grasp as one of the Giants pinned me flat to the ground as easily as a cat pins a mouse. I couldn't even reach the dagger in my belt. He pressed me down into the dirt so hard that I could barely breathe.

_"No!"_ came a deep, angry shout from behind. I realized my life had just been spared when the Giant holding me let out a disappointed whine and with a mighty thud a club the size of a tree trunk hit the ground just inches from my head. I couldn't see any of what was going on, but the voice ordered, "Take him!"

I was snatched upright, my feet leaving the ground as I was roughly turned around to face my captors. Another Giant had joined us, smaller and darker and clearly the one in command. He glared at me, fury written on every line of his face.

"I told you not to reveal yourselves!" he hissed, slapping one of the Giants across the face. "Fools!"

There came an echo of idiotic laughter and animal screams as the last of the Giants came back over the hill dragging Jett. She was bloodied and broken and screaming in mindless agony. I felt bile rise in my throat. Jett . . .

My other attackers joined in the laughter, but the leader just looked angrier still, shaking his head in disgust as he ordered,

"Just kill it!"

I gasped and turned away so I couldn't see the club fall. The sound of heavy wood impacting flesh and bone was horrifying. My legs buckled and I dropped to my hands and knees, dust and dirt and tears choking me. I was freezing cold and could hardly breathe. Oh, Aslan, what was happening here? I was barely aware of my surroundings, so overwhelmed were my senses by the brutality of this assault.

"We have to leave this place before we're seen. Back to where we hid before."

I concentrated and let myself be astonished at the leader's speech as I fought for control. The Giants I knew were never so clearly spoken or eloquent. At his words his three companions let out sounds of complaint, which he dismissed crossly.

"It's just a building!" he snapped. "It has no more power! We have wounded to tend to before we bring this one before my father!"

Building. They were taking me to the Castle of the White Witch. That had to be it, the castle was the only thing large enough to house Giants anywhere near this place. I was hauled upright again, the sudden motion leaving me dizzy and my vision blackened on the edges. I found myself in the grip of the leader; his dark, beady eyes regarded me with hatred.

"And you!" he hissed. "You must be the blood heir, Son of Adam and king. They said she made a successor. So much I owe you. Let this be the first payment."

I never even felt the blow to my head land.


	3. Crimes Unspeakable

**Chapter Three: Crimes Unspeakable**

Once again, dear readers, be warned! This chapter gets nasty/brutal/yucko, too, but remember these are Ettins we're dealing with! This should be the worst of it (no promises, though). The title says it all.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_Malignant by nature, he never showed remorse.  
- Beowulf, _line137

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I awoke to an unearthly feeling of cold that seemed more intense than any chill I'd ever felt before, and not just because of the pounding in my head. It was deep and invasive and left me weak. There was a sound of running water somewhere near that brought me back to the autumn just past when I had followed the Great River to its source. Water had been my constant companion for months on end, sometimes friend, sometimes foe. What was it now? I slowly opened my eyes. For the longest time all I could see was a lurid, greenish-blue glow that put me in mind of moonlight. I lay perfectly still, concentrating on simply breathing for a while until I could actually see, trying to deny the intense pain throbbing in my skull from a single blow of the Giant's fist.

The sickly glow came from behind the walls. I stared, wondering how this could be, when I abruptly realized I had to be in the ruins of the White Witch's castle and I was staring at a wall of ice. I remembered Edmund describing the weird shine when he had been in the dungeons here. Was this a dungeon? No. I could sense a large, open room spreading out behind me and I realized there were fading geometric designs carved into the surface of the ice. I was surprised there was any ice remaining, but this had been the seat of Jadis's power for a century and her magic still resisted the heat of summer.

Giants. There had been four? Yes, four. The leader was interesting. He wasn't like the others. I thought back. He had been smaller, with finer features and a clearer voice than his fellows. Wracking my brain, I remembered my history tutor, a Great Horned Owl named Lewiston, had said there were three known races of Giants: The Good Giants of Narnia, the Northern Giants who were rather barbaric, and the Ettins, sometimes called Palish Giants because they tended to be fairer than the rest of their ilk. They were smaller and smarter than the other races, but 'smarter' was debatable since the Ettins had backed Jadis during her reign and a dozen or more had been slain at Beruna. I had never seen or heard tell of any Giant - Ettin or otherwise - like the leader of this little troop. Most Ettins were wicked brutes, the rest of their number being stupid wicked brutes. Biased as that sounded even my own thoughts, it was the absolute truth. They were awful creatures - cruel, vicious, and sadistic on a scale not even their Northern cousins could match, and according to Lewiston they had fallen far from the skilled and prosperous tribe they had once been.

What did they want with me? The leader had mentioned bringing me to his father. Was I to be held hostage? Or was I simply on the menu for an upcoming feast? My muddled mind gave it a bit of thought and I concluded, very much to my surprise, that I would be quite a valuable hostage if they knew who and what I was. I knew there was no end Narnia would not go to in order to get me back. I wondered if they had factored Edmund into this to-do. I would have to guess no, since so far I seemed to be the only hostage. Really, if you wanted to stymie Narnia and her army, you needed us both and Oreius, not that I would ever volunteer such information. I could only hope my captors made the mistakes many ambassadors made and assumed that I was the ultimate authority in Narnia after Aslan. That was emphatically not so, but the title of High King seemed to fool envoys every time. Not that Edmund minded - he used it very much to his advantage and many an embassage regretted the oversight. I had faith my little brother would bring these Giants to grief in similar manner. If they didn't know he existed, so much the better.

Edmund. Had Peterkins found him? I had to believe the little Fox had survived the onslaught of angry Giants. Any other idea was inconceivable. He was a clever little thing and he would know to ask the Dryads and local Animals for help in reaching my brother.

Jett. I tried to keep from thinking about the hideous sound of her screams and the crunch of bone as the Giants killed her. She had been a beautiful, spirited animal and I had loved her best of all the horses in the stables. And my guard. I knew most of them well, good and valiant soldiers of Narnia that they had been. Lieutenant Vimal had led the party that found me in the Western Wild this past Yule. The Apis cousins, so young and enthusiastic. Wise old Boris, a veteran of Beruna. Gentle Lonn. And Tyxy, whom I had barely known but who told such clever jokes. All dead. Killed. Murdered so that I could be held hostage by strange Giants. What in the name of Aslan had brought this situation about? What could they want me for?

"Up!"

Suddenly a vicious kick blow on my back and I was slammed into the wall before me. I cried out in surprise and pain at the dual blows and lay gasping against the ice, helpless to move.

"Get up, you little bastard," hissed a voice from high above me.

I shifted painfully, getting my arms beneath me as I slowly raised my head. The smallest of my captors stood before me. He was glaring at me with undisguised hatred, his deep, dark eyes full of spite and I could see he wanted nothing more than an excuse to hit me again. Beyond him I could see the shapes of his three fellows hunched over in a tight circle in a room large enough to dwarf even Giants.

"Who are you?" I rasped warily, alert for another unwarranted beating.

He strode forward on long legs and seized me by my heavy tunic with one hand. I was yanked to my feet and slammed against the wall of ice. The fist holding me was so huge the fingers could have circled my waist and there was barely enough fabric for him to grip.

"I'm the one whose birthright you stole, little man."

That made no sense at all. Instinctively my hands pushed against his though I had no more hope of moving a Giant's hand than I could hope to topple the castle walls by pushing on them. "What are you talking about? I've stolen nothing, least of all from you!"

"Where is Jadis? Where is this so-called Queen of Narnia? They said she named a Son of Adam as her blood heir, made him her own child and robbed us of the throne she said would be ours! Where is she? What happened to her castle? What became of the winter she made? Where are my people we sent to aid her?"

As he spoke he jerked me closer and closer until his huge face filled my vision. He was a strange looking piece of work even for a Giant, the features of his face squeezed together and his eyes were small and very closely set. His long, dark hair was as shaggy as a pony's mane and his skin looked as tough as leather. I pulled back from that hideous visage, instinctively trying to loose his grip on me, trying to make sense of what he had said.

"That spell - her power - is broken forever. Jadis is gone. Destroyed." I twisted away and he released me, letting me stagger back. "Who are you?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Hatta!" He looked back at his three companions and hissed something I couldn't quite hear with the odd acoustics in the room. With a grumble one of Giants rose, spearing something on the end of his knife before limping towards us. It was the Giant I had attacked. His arm was crudely bandaged, as were his knees, and he looked at me with a burning hatred. He tipped his knife over and dropped something on the floor before me with a loud splat. I looked at it in revulsion. It was a large hunk of raw meat, dripping and bloody.

"Swine, I believe," smirked the leader, waving the other Giant back.

I stared in open-mouthed horror. They were eating a Talking Animal. They had murdered my guards and now . . . now they were eating . . .

I backed away, trying not to retch as I bumped into the rough wall of ice behind me. This was the most unspeakable sin in Narnia and Archenland. Not even in Calormen would the people knowingly consume a Talking Animal. My vision was edged in blackness as I fought to keep from fainting. No, no, no . . .

"Or maybe it was your horse," he taunted. "Mmm . . . no, I think we already ate her. Definitely swine."

_Aslan, please don't let this be happening . . ._

I gasped, so dismayed I couldn't even open my eyes. The smell of blood nauseated me as never before. I had smelt gore and death before, but that was expected when hunting or in battle. There were rules to killing that way. This was completely different. This was murder.

"It's all you'll get. I suggest you eat."

I opened my eyes, forcing myself to look upon this hateful creature that treated the lives of my cousins, my subjects, so casually. I was no stranger to starvation and I would much sooner perish than bring Aslan's wrath upon me. Glaring up at him, I felt a hot flush creep up my cheeks despite the fact that I was shivering, a fury not even the enchanted ice of the White Witch's palace could cool.

"You will regret ever stepping foot in Narnia," I swore, lapsing into the courtly speech that conveyed emotion so well, "and you will pay for harming our subjects and abusing us in so base a manner. By Aslan, you will rue this day's work, Ettin."

It was a wild guess to call him an Ettin, but he didn't deny it or seem in the least surprised. He didn't answer, but there was a flash of something - not fear, apprehension, perhaps - in his eyes before he slumped away, leaving the gory hunk of flesh on the ground.

"Then I'll get you," I whispered to his back. It was a promise, not a threat, coming from the High King.

He paused, but did not turn around. After a moment he snorted derisively and went and joined his fellows in their unholy feast. My legs gave way and I slid down the wall. I stared into the vastness of the room, my prayers calling out to Aslan and my brother.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I never did know how much time passed. I sat there numbly, knowing I could not escape. It had not worked when I had been hale, it certainly wouldn't work when I had been beaten and my head felt as if it was splitting in two with pain. All I really wanted to do was pass out. My knife was gone, as was Rhindon's sheath, leaving me completely unarmed and defenseless against these creatures more than three times my size. Staring at nothing, waiting for my captors to act, I listened and wondered which of these monsters now claimed the Blue Steel blade Edmund had forged for me.

Since coming to Narnia almost two years ago I had seen the most glorious sights imaginable and I had accomplished the most remarkable feats, but the beauty of this land and its people had not blinded me to the darker side of the world I now inhabited. There was good and evil here, just as in England, but when augmented by magic good and evil reached new extremes. Joy and love and honor abounded in Narnia, but I had also learned to kill and I had done so on many occasions. It was not just hunting, but I had taken an enemy's life when so compelled. It was easy to do at times but it was never pleasant and not an act in which I reveled. There were rules and codes for taking a life in Narnia, be it of a foe or dumb beast or tree or fish, set forth by Aslan himself. They were understood throughout the land and strictly, willingly enforced by all.

These monsters, these Ettin Giants, had broken the highest of all our laws. They had slaughtered and now devoured my subjects.

So stunned and shocked was I that for the longest time I could do nothing but be horrified. Gradually I became aware that the Ettin leader was the younger brother of the one that had killed Jett. It seemed he was a simpleton, his language stilted and his vocabulary very limited. He made me think of Edmund, whom I always thought to be the smartest of the four of us - keen, penetrating, and deep thinker that he was. What would my life had been had Edmund not been . . . Edmund? It was a sobering thought. Clearly this idiot Ettin, Storr by name, thought with his stomach because he was tired of nothing but fish. He had leaped at the chance of anything different to eat, blindly disobeying his brother's order not to leave the castle while the younger Giant had gone scouting their route back to Ettinsmoor. The dark and angry leader, furious though he was at their conduct, could not see fit to waste food and had allowed his small band to consume my escort and my horse. By their conversation I gathered they had not eaten so well in ages, and indeed they looked like a disreputable lot. It seemed we were only so much food to them.

I heard bones crack and Storr gave a moronic laugh as he sucked the marrow out of someone's femur. The sound was sickening. Was that Vimal? Lonn? Chambris? I wanted to faint. I dared not cry, but this scene was unbearable. I needed to escape the racket of grunting, slurping Giants and the sight of bones still slick with blood and sinew being thrown in a careless heap.

Aslan, deliver me from these monsters that I may be the agent of your justice upon them. Free me from this senseless horror. As you love me, Great Lion, help me. Please . . . please . . . help me . . .

Blessed darkness slowly filled my vision, drawing me down to oblivion. My wish, my prayers were answered and I slowly slipped from consciousness.


	4. Buried Alive

**Chapter Four: Buried Alive**

_'. . . there was a hidden passage,  
unknown to men . . .'_

-_Beowulf_, lines 2213-2214

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I roused from my faint when I was dropped onto solid rock. It was quite a nasty way to wake up and I involuntarily let out a yelp of pain and surprise as I sprawled on the ground.

"Silence!" hissed a voice from far above me.

Seeing as how I did not wish to invite another beating, I obeyed. Instead I sat up, drawing my legs in close and mentally checking to see if I had anything new to add to my list of hurts. I had some additional bruises and scrapes, but nothing worse it seemed and my head still won as my primary complaint. I looked around, trying to penetrate the gloom, listening to the wildly echoing sounds and feeling the moist air move about as I tried to figure where on earth I was.

_On earth?_ I thought as realization hit. _Sweet Lion, try below it, Peter._

I had been in a cavern once before, when my Uncle Robert took me and Susan and Edmund (Lucy was too little to go) and our two older cousins on holiday. I remembered Derbyshire and visiting the caverns at Poole's Hole. The echoing and just the sensation of being underground had frightened Susan and she would not let go of my hand the whole time, while Edmund had to be restrained from climbing all over everything. I had found the place to be beautiful and exciting with its exotic formations and different chambers and I enjoyed the way sound was distorted and multiplied. Poole's Hole was relatively small, dry, well lit, and comfortable by comparison to where I was now.

It was too dark to see, so I paid attention to the sounds instead. I could hear the Ettins shuffle about not far from where I sat and the roar of water in the background. This cavern seemed huge, monstrous even since giants were able to move about it with ease. There was a glimmer of uneven light and I saw a torch held aloft in a gnarled hand moving towards me. Long shadows revealed mighty stalagmites and stalactites, bumpy pillars and fantastic mineral formations all around the cavern. It was as if colored wax had melted to form this place. Any other time I would have been eager to explore, but now all I wanted was to make these monsters pay for what they had done and to have a hundred miles and an army between me and them.

"What is this place?" I asked when the Ettin leader stood before me.

He sneered. "The bowels of Narnia, where else? Lower even than her dungeons. These caverns reach all the way to Loy. She refused us entry by any other path."

I had no idea where or what Loy could be, but now I knew how the Ettins had gotten here without being spotted. "What do you want with me?"

Anger seemed to be his foremost emotion, because even though his face was mostly shadowed I could see him glower. "I want what's mine. What I was promised. What I have served for all my life. I want Narnia, little man."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Narnia? Giants ruling Narnia? That was impossible. Aslan's law forbade such a thing.

"What you were promised? Promised by whom?"

He looked at me as if I was a greater idiot than his brother. "The queen before you. The one you replaced: Jadis."

I shook my head, trying to force my rattled brain to understand. "Only Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve can rule in Narnia."

"Really? How convenient. But it seems to me Jadis did an adequate job of it for the past century and she was closer in kin to me than you, little king. Perhaps if you knew your history, you would know that I have a valid claim to the land you stole."

What I knew of Narnia's history did not include Ettins being the heirs to the thrones in Cair Paravel. This was all so very, very strange and confusing and senseless. I decided to start at the beginning and backed up my line of questioning.

"Who are you? Why have you attacked me and my party? Why have you murdered my subjects?"

He rolled his eyes in disgust. Clearly he had never needed to recover from multiple beatings and endure seeing his fellows slain and devoured before his eyes. He also seemed to think I should already know who he was.

"Can you _murder_ your dinner, Son of Adam?" The Ettin laughed derisively and shook his head.

"They were each and every one of them my cousins and loyal soldiers all. To kill a Talking Animal or Magical Creature is murder in this land. To consume their flesh is unforgivable."

"Steer and swine and goats your cousins? How could we possibly know they could talk?"

"How could you know I was a king otherwise?" I demanded, trapping him with his own words.

"You're not as clever as you think. Why am I surprised she would cloak you in ignorance? Huh. She certainly did it to us. Unless of course you simply _are_ this ignorant. Which is it?"

What a provoking individual. He enjoyed being in a position to mock me, but I noticed he made no mention of Foxes. I could only hope they had not caught sight of Peterkins and that the kit had escaped. Regarding the Ettin, I refused to rise to his childish baiting, saying, "I have naught to do with Jadis or anything that false queen might have promised."

"Really? Rumor said she found a legendary Son of Adam and through her magic made him her blood heir. I came to speak to her about the promises she made my people and what did I find at her castle but warmth and sunshine and a Son of Adam? What am I supposed to think except that you slew the Queen and took her throne?"

Blood heir? He'd said that before. What could he . . . oh, Aslan. Edmund. He was talking about Edmund. Upon his first visit to Narnia the White Witch had tricked my brother into consuming a magical potion that contained her own blood, granting her dominion over him in ways we could never imagine. We had thought the restoration of the Tree of Protection had resolved that, but it seemed that true to her word, Jadis was not through with him yet.

"I certainly can't say what you're supposed to think," I answered slowly, "but I would bid you listen to the truth."

"Oh, tell me, little king," he begged sarcastically. "For surely you would never lie to me."

"I would not," said I. "Jadis is indeed dead but not by my hand. Aslan slew her almost two years ago in a battle fought for Narnia's freedom. Her power and authority over Narnia are gone._ I_ am the king of Narnia now."

"And who are you, little man?"

"King Peter. To whom do I speak?"

He smirked, clearly unimpressed by my claim and still thinking I was an idiot for all my eloquence. With a mocking little nod of his grotesque head he replied, "I am Crown Prince Valerlan, son of King Valaner, the heir of Ettinsmoor and rightful king of Narnia."

"By what right do you call yourself king of Narnia?"

"By right of succession, little man, and by pact with the former queen whom you disposed. But charming as this conversation is, we must leave this our home and bring you, our guest, along with us. Blood heir, false king, whatever you are, if Narnia won't ransom you you'll at least make a decent meal for my father the king."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

One of the most useful things Oreius had ever taught me - and he had taught me almost everything I knew about being a warrior - was how to force myself to think and function when in fact I wanted to be overwhelmed by events. It was a drive born of need and self-reliance and if ever I required the ability to set aside my emotions and endure, it was that terrible day.

They bound my wrists tightly before me with a coarse leather rope as if I was somehow a threat or I might have a chance to escape. Valerlan smiled as he took the rope, smirking at the notion of leading me about like an animal. The other Giants carried huge torches in their hands that illuminated the stone chamber. I was surprised to see refuse and mud all around - branches and water plants, rotting vegetation, mud, dead fish. I frowned, looking down at the stinking mud around my ankles, and then I realized what had happened to Lake Asher.

Whatever doorway the Ettins used to reach the White Witch's castle must have been below the surface of the water. That was well and good when the whole lake was a frozen block of ice, but once the ice was gone opening the same door must have caused a horrific flood that filled these chambers. What a shock for the Ettins! I could only wish it had caught the lot of them. These four must have fought their way past the torrent to the safety of the castle, trapped there until the water levels went down far enough to traverse the caverns again. Even now I could hear water flowing in from the lake refilling whatever subterranean riverbed that had been parched for the past century. I wondered how far this system of caverns reached and if anyone besides Jadis and the Ettins had known about it. Caves were common enough in Narnia and the Dwarfs and Moles and other burrowing Animals had any number of mines scattered about the country. These caverns seemed vast, though the Ettins appeared to know where they were going.

We walked for what felt like ages, passing from one chamber to the next. At times the Ettins had to stoop or even crawl to fit; their torches cast long shadows and gave me swift glimpses of the glories of these caverns. We passed mighty pillars and glittering formations, a forest of stalactites as thin as my finger that reached almost to the floor, rocks that looked like frozen waterfalls and a weirdly formed deposit that looked like a rust-red dragon curled up asleep on the path before us. The Ettins took no notice, unimpressed by the earth's artistry, and I saw places where they had shattered the rock to force a path through or the flood from Lake Asher had broken delicate stone. The going was mostly level, though there were points we had to climb up or down and more than once Valerlan simply tossed me roughly over his shoulder rather than wait for me to pick a safe path. How deep we were I was certain not even the Ettins could guess.

My much smaller size slowed them down and that generated impatience with Storr and his cohorts, Hatta and Haigha. They glared at me and muttered as if the situation was somehow my fault when they weren't talking about how they killed Jett and the soldiers. I tried my best to keep from reacting, unwilling to give them that pleasure when in truth I wanted to scream and lash out at them and make them pay, then cry with grief at the senseless slaughter.

_Patience_, I heard Oreius' voice echo in my head. _An opportunity will present itself. When it does, seize it._

Patience. It did not come easily right now even though I had little say in the matter.

A sudden shove to my back knocked me to the ground. I landed heavily in the thick, tacky mud, barely able to break my fall with my bound wrists. I let out a bark of pain that produced a stupid laugh from the Ettin behind me.

"Hatta!" Valerlan snapped, furious. I looked up at the prince's glowering face as I slowly, unsteadily regained my footing. Clearly he was as fed up with the mindless chatter and sadistic conduct of his underlings as I was and he was banishing the ringleader. "Be silent! Go scout ahead."

The Ettin gladly pressed on alone, his long strides eating up the distance until darkness swallowed him. Valerlan waited for a little while, letting Hatta get well ahead, letting me rest. I sat against a wall of stone and leaned my head back with a sigh, closing my eyes. It was not easy going at all, especially in the dark with my hands tied and my head aching. The route wound up and down rock formations that grew willy-nilly from the earth and everything was cold and damp. I was glad to see the mud persisted and we left a very visible trail. Still, I probably could have moved faster, but if Edmund was going to mount a rescue - and I had no doubt that he would - the slower I moved the more time I bought him and so I dragged my heels. Did Valerlan really think that no one would seek me out? He seemed highly intelligent, but perhaps this situation was beyond his experience. It couldn't be every day he met a Son of Adam, nor yet took a king hostage, and it seemed to me he was simply reacting as events occurred. My capture - indeed, the whole attack - struck me as an impulsive act, not anything planned, as if bringing me before his father was just a footnote on his orders.

"No more talking," ordered Valerlan, then he added, "unless it's from you."

Opening my eyes, I frowned. Why would I want to talk to him or him to me? Was he so isolated even amongst his own that he had to turn to his captives for stimulating conversation? I lifted my bound hands to rub the bridge of my nose. I was tired and hungry and my sore head kept me disoriented. The thought of food nauseated me, and I knew from past experience I had a mild concussion. It wasn't quite enough to stop me, but it would make this forced march hard going.

"Well, Son of Man?" he goaded.

I dropped my hands heavily to my lap and glared at him, not in any mood to play along. "What would you have me say, Prince Valerlan?"

"You seem an educated being. Surely you can converse on any number of topics."

"Aye," I agreed, "but why would I speak to murderers?"

"What is murder to you is to us food for the starving."

"You killed living, thinking beings without need. Your kin killed for the pleasure of it. I have naught to say to you."

Valerlan's brow furrowed 'neath his shaggy mane and he rose abruptly, yanking me to my feet. "Enough, you arrogant whelp. Move out."

Arrogant? Perhaps I was. Valerlan could call me whatever he liked, but I would not blithely pass the time talking with anyone who had so little regard for what Aslan had created.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Not quite an hour later we heard a distant sound echoing through the cavern. It was not water dripping or running, nor was it the wind. It sounded like an animal at first, and then as we drew closer I realized it was the sound of sobbing.

"What is?" blubbered Storr, clearly frightened and drawing close to his brother. Valerlan gave him a reassuring touch. In the dim light of the torches I watched them with detached interest, wondering if Edmund and I ever looked so, for their affection and devotion was obvious.

"It's nothing to fear," Valerlan said sternly. "There's naught down here but us."

"What of the dead?" whispered Haigha.

"The dead do not cry," insisted Valerlan.

Afraid of the dark were they? Simpletons or no, they were bullies and their cowardice revolted me. Impatiently I snapped, "It's Hatta."

Valerlan hid his realization well. Storr and Haigha stared at me in shock, seemingly amazed that I should know any their names, and their prince smiled at his brother.

"Who else could it be, Storr?"

I was rather surprised to realize my hearing was far more acute then theirs, because to me the hiccupping sobs were distinct despite the echoes. I was more afraid of twisting my ankle than of the distant sounds and it must have shown because Valerlan immediately rallied the pair of Ettins.

"Come! We'll find Hatta and comfort his tears. Come brother! Come, Haigha!"

He looked at me with the most curious expression. It was defensive, as if he expected me to be sneering (for surely were our positions reversed he would have done as much). My contempt for their sniveling I kept to myself, but I felt a strange sense of pity for these beings, Valerlan not the least among them. If what Valerlan had said was true they too were victims of the White Witch - willing victims, as Edmund had been, so they were not blameless. Be that as it may I still hated them and what they had done, but they still stirred pity within me - pity, but no forgiveness.

I got tugged along with the leader, but I noticed the Ettins behind Valerlan moved with caution, not so confident now that they faced the unknown and I suspected Valerlan would not have been so bold but for my presence. The noise grew louder and more distinct and eventually a glimmer of light ahead revealed Hatta's location. The Giant was kneeling, his back to us, and he carried on and on.

"Hatta!" called Storr, alarmed.

The brute turned and his motion revealed the source of his misery: the bloated and pale corpse of a drowned Giant wedged in a crevasse. I think it might have been female but it was hard to tell. Haigha and Hatta let out keening wails and rushed to join their fellow, their voices rising up in mourning. I watched Valerlan, waiting for him to act, and again he gave me that strange look as if my reaction to their emotional response mattered to him in some way or he wanted to see how a king and a Son of Adam dealt with such a situation. Hanging as far back away from them as the tether would let me I kept my face blank, defying him to put his grief and his loss above mine.

"We'll mourn our dead tonight," promised Valerlan, touching his fellows on the shoulder sympathetically.

The dullard Ettins sniffed and wiped their noses on their sleeves. Hatta gazed up at his prince in desperation.

"We need to bury her!"

"We don't have the means or the time, Hatta."

Clearly burial was of the utmost importance to them because Hatta became despondent and tore at his hair, wailing in sorrow. Valerlan stepped away and came close to where I stood giving him an arch look. He frowned, clearly wondering what was on my mind, so I enlightened him.

Gazing up at the darkness above, a night that would never know the beauty of stars or moon, I quietly asked, "Isn't she buried already?"

His dark eyes grew wide. Clearly the thought had never occurred to him. I glared at him, demanding, "Aren't we all buried alive right now, crown prince?"

He had no answer. I turned away to stare into the shadows, praying to those who loved me best.


	5. Beaversdam

**Chapter Five: Beaversdam**

_'. . . He announced his plan:  
to sail the swan's road and search out that king,  
the famous prince who needed defenders.'_

- _Beowulf_, lines 219-221

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I was backed into a corner and my opponent knew it. He also knew to expect some wild bid for freedom as I tried to fight my way through his ranks of knights and heralds. My castle and queen were well defended. I just needed to eliminate his black herald . . .

Blast. If I took his herald, his pawn would capture my knight. I frowned, glancing at my thoughtful opponent, and his dark eyes glittered in amusement as he watched me recognize how desperate my position really was.

"How many moves, Athan?" I asked in a defeated monotone, sitting back.

"Six, King Edmund," said the Mountain Gorilla without a hint of smugness.

I sighed. "Dame Utha got to you too, didn't she?"

The Gorilla chuckled at the mention of our flinty navigation tutor. He, along with both of his brothers, Ward and Natha, was her student right along with me and Peter. "Majesty, since she began teaching you and your brother chess, the good lady has issued orders throughout the palace and the army that neither of you is to be granted any quarter. I believe Peridan may well be the only chess player in the palace Dame Utha has not reached."

"She has no mercy," I grumbled good-naturedly, not at all surprised that the army would cower before Dame Utha. I was certain they feared her far more than me or Peter. I could only hope that we got back to Cair Paravel before Utha extended her order to Peridan and his wife, recently arrived from Archenland and seeking to reestablish themselves in their ancestral home.

"Another game before we turn in?" Athan asked.

I began to reset the worn chessmen. "Only if you explain how you beat me this first round."

We had visited the Tree of Protection earlier that day and the Dryads had happily shown me how well the tree was progressing. A mere six months old, it was twice my height and already blazing with blue and green leaves. I was rather surprised that it wasn't blooming, for when Peter had planted it at the start of this past Yule it had grown immediately and bore an apple within days. It took the Dryads explaining to me that Aslan's breath had stirred so much life in the tree for me to understand. For the first time I realized why Aslan had been so reluctant to let me give the apple to Peter. He had known it would be years before the tree bore fruit again.

There were two seedlings growing close by the tree that the Dryads pointed out, grown from the seeds of the silver apple I had eaten. Strangely, they looked more like normal apple trees than like their parent, but they were still pretty things and it was clear the Dryads treasured them. Since there was no rush to be anywhere other than where we were, I invoked royal privilege and spent several hours with the tree and its guardians and leaving my escort to entertain themselves. It was rather hard to explain the effect the Tree of Protection had on me. Perhaps the best thing to say it filled me with content. I got the same sensation from being in Lion Chapel back in Cair Paravel: a warm, serene feeling of being in a protective embrace, velvet paws and sweet breath and a thick mane that was as coarse as it was soft.

Though we weren't very far from Beaversdam, I opted to camp by the Tree. Mr. Beaver and I were not the closest of comrades and I didn't want to spend more time alone with him than was necessary. Peter would understand, and I suspected Xati did, too, because she made no suggestion to move even though she knew I was meeting Peter at Beaversdam in the morning.

And now I was losing yet another game of chess to Athan. The Gorilla was very patient as he backed up my game several moves and showed me what I should have done for a better offensive plan. He was even kind enough to let the game continue from where he corrected me, giving me a fighting chance.

"I won't tell Utha," I promised, and he laughed.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

There was no sign of Peter when we arrived at Beaversdam two hours past dawn the following morn. I was a little surprised at this because I fully expected my revoltingly punctual brother to be waiting for me. Actually, I was depending on Peter's presence to spare me and Mr. Beaver from having to converse and that was why I had gotten here so late. We tended to be uncomfortable around each other despite our best efforts. Neither of us could quite forget that Beaver had regarded me with harsh suspicion from the start and he had very quickly and very publicly made my early conduct in Narnia known. He had done a lot of damage with a few deliberate words. I knew that he still felt guilty even if we had talked and settled the issue of my behavior and his. As with Mr. Tumnus, I remained polite and pleasant and distant. In response he was always on edge in my presence. His wife refused to acknowledge a problem might exist and treated me with the same fussy, loving, doting affection as my siblings and I couldn't help but like her.

After announcing myself and stepping inside their lodge to greet them, Mrs. Beaver chased us outside so she could cook breakfast for everyone. My entire troop and I had already eaten - we knew better than to rely on her for a decent meal. She commanded her husband to entertain me and ordered me not to get my feet wet. Mr. Beaver was giving me a tour of his dam (which, despite its completion almost two years ago, he was still working on; detailing, he called it) and, glad for something neutral to discuss, I was telling him about the progress on the port being built at Kellsalter when one of the Raven scouts gave a loud caw. We both looked up, waiting for him to speak.

"King Edmund! King Edmund! Peter approaches!"

I frowned, wondering at the lack of title. "My brother?"

"No, Sire! Master Peter Fox! He's alone!"

A chill swept down my spine, and I cast Mr. Beaver an anxious look. Nothing about this could be good. Together we clambered up the slope from the river towards where the other Raven lookout waited atop the hill. Sure enough I could just make out the ears of the young Fox over the tall grass, moving towards us. Several Birds fluttered above him, calling out directions and encouragement. Of my brother and his guard there was no sign and I knew instantly something horrible had happened.

"Oh, Aslan," I breathed then set off to meet the Fox as fast as I could run. Mr. Beaver, built more for swimming than for running, lumbered and lunged beside me. "Peterkins!" I shouted. "Peterkins!"

"King Edmund!" he yipped, jumping straight up in the air to see over the grass. He popped up again and spotted me (Foxes being nearsighted) and angled towards me. "King Edmund!"

I dropped to my knees and caught him as he leaped into my arms. He was panting and dusty and some of last year's burrs were tangled in his fur. I looked to the Birds, Robins and Nuthatches, and asked,

"What happened, cousins?"

"We don't know, Majesty," said a Robin. He hopped to and fro. "He said King Peter ordered him to find you. We've been guiding him since the Witch's castle."

I looked down at the exhausted, trembling kit. "Peterkins, what happened?"

"Perhaps indoors," puffed Mr. Beaver, finally catching up. He gave me a knowing look, wary at the mere mention of Narnia's former dictator. I nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, cousins," I said to the Birds. "Please, if you see or hear of anything strange get word to me immediately."

My own guard and Phillip had long since surrounded me and Mr. Beaver and now they escorted us to the Beaver's lodge. I carried Peterkins, carefully working on freeing the burrs from his tail. He was well and truly worn out. It was too long a run for so small and Animal and whatever had driven him to it must have been horrible.

"Tea, darling, we have company," called Mr. Beaver as we entered the cozy house. I sat down at the low table as Mrs. Beaver clucked over the kettle. She let out a little, "Oh!" when she spotted Peterkins on my lap and reached for a saucer for his tea.

"Peter," I said urgently. "What happened? Where is my brother?"

"Giants," he said, his childish voice high-pitched and breathless with excitement. "Bad Giants! As many as I have paws. They were hidden in the old castle. We were waiting for Vimal to get back from the castle when they ran at us!"

I felt panic grip my heart. I swallowed, ignoring the gasps from the Beavers and collecting myself before asking, "What did they do?"

Excited to be telling the tale of his adventures, Peterkins bounced around on my lap. "They made Jett run away and then they hit her and she screamed and screamed and they hit her again. They chased King Peter. He used his sword on one of them! The Giant was right in his way. King Peter ran and the Giant tried to hit him with his club and King Peter cut his arm and his legs. Then they caught him and knocked him down flat and carried him off."

"What of the guard with him?" Even to my own ears my voice sounded dead.

"Oh." Peterkins deflated, his tail drooping. "The Giants hit them too, then dragged them all off, and Jett."

"Where?"

"I don't know. One of them said inside."

Inside. They must be in the castle. Why? Was there something there, or were they merely holed up to lick their wounds?

"King Peter shouted for me to run away and find you. It took me all night but the Dryads and the Birds and Squirrels helped."

I hugged him close for a moment, my heart hammering in my chest and a sickness settling in my belly. "You did very well, Peterkins. Wait right here with Mrs. Beaver," I ordered, standing and setting him down in my chair as Mrs. Beaver set a saucer of tea before him. "I want you to think hard, Master Fox, and remember everything you can for me. I'll be right back." I tapped Beaver on the shoulder to join me.

Xati, the Centaur lieutenant, was waiting not a foot outside the door, Phillip right beside her. I was not surprised to see them. I waved all the guards and the two Raven scouts closer as Mr. Beaver closed the door.

"Peter has been attacked and captured by Giants. Xati, who is on patrol in this region?"

She thought a moment. "Kanell with a troop of eighteen soldiers and four support. They should be close to the Tree of Protection by now."

I looked at one of the scouts. "Tell, find them. Have them meet us . . ." I thought hard. "Have them meet us where the Great River leaves the Lantern Waste. We'll be setting out very soon."

He flew off like a shot. One of my guard, a Bobcat named Flinder, quietly asked the question each of us was thinking.

"Sire, do you know why they would take your brother?"

"Other than hold him as a hostage, I don't know. I'm less worried about their reasons than what they intend to do to him." The appetites of evil Giants were well known and feared in Narnia. I looked to Xati. "Please saddle Phillip. We're leaving as soon as I'm done speaking to Peterkins."

I cast a glance at the handful of soldiers that were escorting me. Besides Xati, Flinder, Shikov, and Athan, I had been accompanied by a Zebra named Ninia and a Faun archer, Gicelus. Tell's sister, Po, waited for me above the door of the Beavers' lodge.

"Good Po, I need you to get word to Cair Paravel of what has happened. If you see any more armed parties on your way send them to Lake Asher. Be swift."

"I shall, Majesty!" she cried and took off in the opposite direction her brother had taken. I watched her go, my mind working hard and fast. Behind me I heard Ninia start to speak and Xati silenced her. I ignored them and concentrated on the problem before me. Giants had attacked Peter. Wicked Giants were in Narnia again. Since the Lantern Waste was close to Ettinsmoor and since the Ettins had supported Jadis' reign, I had to assume it wasn't the Northern Giants we were dealing with but their western cousins. That was not good news since from what I knew about the Ettins, they were more desperate and isolated than the Northern Giants, though not as numerous.

I needed more information. I didn't care a whit about their motivation for taking my brother. That I could deal with later, _after_ I had Peter back safely. Nothing else mattered. I just needed to know more about the attackers themselves so I knew what we were up against.

_Peter. Dammit. Why did this have to happen to you? Why was it life was never as kind and simple as it should be for you?_ I could only pray that Peter's natural stubbornness didn't land him in more trouble. I wished I had been the one taken. I was far better equipped to deal with being held captive than Peter, having had extensive experience in the field, and Aslan knew he would mount a better and faster rescue than I could ever hope to do.

Peterkins was much calmer when I entered the cozy lodge again. I sat down beside him and Mrs. Beaver set tea before me.

"Now, Peterkins, I need you to tell me the story again. Speak slowly and tell me as much about the Giants and what they did as ever you can."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Less than twenty minutes later I had not one, but two highly disgruntled subjects howling to join my party as I stepped out of the lodge.

"Peterkins, you'll stay in here with Mrs. Beaver." I looked at her where she stood in the doorway and she nodded, smiling.

The Fox let out a disappointed yowl despite the fact that the good lady stood right beside him. Before I could respond, Xati, who had been waiting at the door for me, turned her stern gaze upon the kit.

"What kind of knight of Narnia will you make some day?" she demanded. "You would leave a lady undefended? You question the orders of your king?" She snorted, her eyes glittering with amusement. "Majesty, shall I deal with this miscreant?"

As she spoke the little Fox deflated more and more until he was thoroughly ashamed.

"No, Lieutenant, I believe Master Peter knows where his duty lies." With a gesture I sent Xati on ahead and I knelt down to smooth his rust-red fur. "You listen to Mrs. Beaver and don't cause her any grief. I need you and Mr. Beaver to stay here and keep her safe." He sniffed and nodded. I couldn't help but smile because he was the cutest of Animals, and I tried to gentle the blow to his fragile ego. "Ofttimes the most important duties are the least appealing, Peterkins. I need to know that you'll be safe."

"I'd rather go with you," he mumbled, leaning heavily into my hand.

"I know. Promise me."

He muttered something to that effect and I planted a kiss on his head before he could see it coming and dodge. They entered the lodge as I started up the hill. Moments later the door banged open again.

"What do you mean to say I'm not to accompany your troop, King Edmund?" bellowed Mr. Beaver at my back, racing up the slope behind me.

"Just that," I replied. I spoke a little sharper than was my wont, turning to face him. "We're going now, we're moving quickly, and frankly, Mr. Beaver, you are not as fast as a Horse or Centaur or even a Boar. We will not slow up for you."

Beaver stopped short, furious. "Then I'll follow you!"

"You'll do no such thing," I said, fully aware that he didn't want to go for my sake but for Peter's. I didn't care that my brother was this gigantic rodent's favorite among us. I did not want him to accompany us and my word was the final say on the matter even if he hadn't the good sense to realize that yet. Since we had met the Beavers, Peter was the only one Mr. Beaver would listen to with anything approaching a serious demeanor. The girls he indulged and me he avoided when he could and tolerated when he had no choice, but Peter he adored. It made not the least bit of difference to me. I knew he would argue every decision I made not because he had a better plan, but because he didn't trust me.

"I'm a free Narnian and I'll go where I choose!" He had dropped all pretenses at civilities, his old dislike and accusations evident in his unguarded expression. Down by the lodge I heard his wife let out a little gasp at the sight of him daring to raise his voice to me in anger.

I kept my tone bland. "Then I suggest you choose to remain right here, sir, because if you defy my command and follow us you will be subject to arrest. You are not in the army and you are _not_ coming."

His temper got the better of him for a moment and he positively bristled, pointing an accusing finger at me. "You - you arrogant little whelp! So this is what it comes down to! A little power and you'd risk your brother's life just so you -"

_"Beaver!"_

Mrs. Beaver rushed up and practically tackled him, yanking his hand down as she looked at the tense row of soldiers atop the rise. They hadn't moved because I kept my hands well away from Shafelm but every eye was focused on me. She glared at her husband and hissed, "_This_ is why he doesn't want you along you stubborn old ass! You can't be trusted to listen to the least order and Lion knows you always think you know better than everyone around you!" Turning to me, she tried to compose herself, her face full of remorse for Beaver's appalling conduct. "My apologies for my husband, King Edmund. He's distraught."

"He's worried for my brother," I answered, keeping my voice even and ignoring the fuming, shamefaced Beaver. He couldn't even look at me. If he wasn't distraught now he would be by the time she got done with him, of that I was certain. "Pray remind him he's not the only one and watch over Peterkins for me, Mrs. Beaver. I'll send word as soon as we have Peter safely back."

I turned away and walked up the slope to where Phillip waited. A swift glance at the little company told me everyone was ready to go and I nodded to Xati the moment I was in the saddle.

"Move out!" she barked, leading the way at a swift trot. There was an air of anxiety and determination as we raced off. Beaver wasn't the only one frantic over my brother's fate and neither was I.


	6. Sun Dogs

**Chapter Six: Sun Dogs**

'_At times the war-band broke into a gallop,  
letting their chestnut horses race  
wherever they found the going good  
on those well-known tracks . . . '_

- _Beowulf_, lines 863-866

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It's both amazing and galling how even short distances seem to stretch out forever when you're in an almighty rush. From Beaversdam to the planned rendezvous point was a distance of about four miles, and from there seven or eight miles to Lake Asher. I wanted very much to simply race up to the lake and that despised castle and find my brother, but I knew we needed reenforcements before we stormed any keeps. I was finding it difficult to rein in my frustration at our pace. Boars can run quickly but only in spurts and Shikov slowed us down. In the end it made no difference because we had to wait for Kanell and his troop to arrive anyway. I could not keep still and Phillip and Xati knew better than to try to restrain or approach me as I paced impatiently in the tall grass.

I knew Kanell well enough that he would get here as swiftly as possible, if not sooner, but waiting was excruciating. I scanned the woods behind me for any sign of soldiers and then steadied my sword as my quick about-face smacked the sheath against my thigh. The blade I bore now was my birthday gift from Peter as I had outgrown my first sword. I was still getting used to its weight and length. Instead of coming up with a new name I had simply dubbed this new sword Shafelm. Peter had laughed and referred to the gift as Shafelm II, or simply Two. It was a beautiful sword, slightly more ornate than the Shafelm it replaced, and I was inordinately proud of it. I had yet to use it in battle, though right now all signs pointed to its baptism in Ettin blood. I hoped.

"King Edmund!"

I looked up at the sound of flapping wings. Tell came to a landing a few yards away and hop-skipped over to me, bowing his head.

"Tell! Did you find Kanell?"

"I did, Highness. He is minutes behind me."

I sighed in relief, reaching down to collect the Raven. He hopped onto my wrist and I held him at eye level.

"Well done. I sent Po to Cair Paravel. Have you heard anything new?"

"No, King Edmund, though Kanell is responding with the swiftest soldiers in his troop. He's given orders for the rest to catch up."

"We'll do the same, then. These Giants have too much of a head start on us as it is."

He let out a loud caw as my ears picked up the sound of hoof beats and suddenly Kanell and a dozen soldiers burst out of the woods to the north. They spotted my tiny band immediately and within minutes the Centaur captain came to a halt before me.

Solid black from head to tail, Kanell was huge even by Centaur standards. Despite the fact that I was growing steadily he never seemed any less colossal. Behind him, the soldiers and couriers were grim-faced and serious. I recognized most of them and knew they were veterans of Beruna.

Wasting no time with formalities, Kanell just inclined his head to me and asked, "What word, King Edmund?"

A few stragglers from Kanell's troop and the rest of my band drew closer as I relayed what information I had gained from Peterkins. "Four Giants, Ettins I believe, were hiding in the ruins of the White Witch's castle. They ambushed my brother's party, killing his guard and his horse and most likely taking him hostage. They returned to the castle because they had wounded. Peterkins said the leader of them was well-spoken and said something to the effect that he owed Peter something and that they would bring him before the chief Ettin's father."

"How?" wondered one of the lieutenants. Kanell cast him a look for speaking out of turn, but I waved off any reprimands. We had no time to worry over rank.

"We have no idea. How they even got into Narnia without being spotted is still a mystery. Right now the only thing I care about is finding my brother as quickly as possible. We'll deal with everything else after Peter is safe."

Everyone nodded in stern agreement. I swept my gaze over those assembled.

"The fastest runners will press on ahead. Those who can't keep up with the archers will remain in a group and follow as quickly as possible. Couriers will stay with each party in case of news or an attack. Athan," I turned to the Gorilla, "take charge of the second group. Let's go."

I will say this about Narnians - they rarely labor under false beliefs that they can do the impossible. There was not a word of grumbling or teasing as the smaller Animals and Dwarfs and anyone that wasn't built for speed stepped aside. I was left with four Centaurs, eight Fauns and Satyr archers, a Zebra, a Bobcat, a Coyote, two Kites and a Raven. Without another word we set out at a brisk pace, fast but not so fast as to overwhelm. It would not do to arrive at the battlefield exhausted.

I let my determination blanket any sense of dread I felt growing as we neared Lake Asher and again I had that distorted sense of the distance stretching out before me. The two Kites, Fulton and Piper, Tell, Flinder and Chaleen, the Coyote, pulled far ahead to scout out the path leading to the castle. We wound our way through the low mountains that rose up around the lake just as abruptly as they gave way to shallow, worn hills. We paused in the shelter of some trees, the last before the empty land around Lake Asher started, and waited for the scouts to return. I could see the half-melted towers of Jadis' castle. Until I had learned better, the building had impressed me once upon a time. Now it looked sad and old and sick against an overcast sky and I could only wish it a swift death.

Kanell, dark and massive, stepped up beside me. Even with me seated on Phillip he was taller than both of us combined. I was glad of his presence for I considered him the next best thing to Oreius. Swift little Xati lingered close as well. Peter must have told her to watch over me. These two, I knew, would follow and obey and only question orders when they had a better idea. I was grateful neither of them had suggested we wait for more troops. Such a delay would be intolerable and unwise and I was sure they both hoped I wouldn't suggest such a thing, either.

"They'll return soon, Your Highness," the captain said quietly.

I nodded, afraid that if I answered my voice would come out in a squeak and fighting to keep my breakfast down. Something caught my eye and I looked to the east, astonished to see not one but three suns standing in a row across the sky, shining from behind a veil of thin clouds.

"Look," I said, momentarily distracted. I pointed. "What is that about?"

Phillip, Kanell, and everyone that was close enough to hear followed my pointing finger to the odd phenomena.

"Sun dogs, King Edmund," said the Centaur. "The sun has gone a'hunting today."

He did not seem displeased and I wondered if this was another bit of Narnian lore I hadn't heard of yet. Kanell caught my eye and explained, pointing at the smaller, reflected suns.

"To the north runs the hound Gloriole, the Cloud Shepherd, and to the south runs his mate Halo, Mother of Rains. They are harbingers of revelation."

I frowned, not exactly certain what this could mean. "Is that good or bad?"

"It's not always an easy thing to tell, Sire. It all depends on what is revealed. By tradition, they bring it to the person who notices them first."

Wonderful. I couldn't quite decide if I found that comforting or not. Settling back in the saddle, I frowned, watching the smaller orbs of light stubbornly fade. Just then Tell cut across my line of vision and made me blink. Gloriole and Halo were gone and the Raven swept forward to land on Kanell's upraised fist. With a bob of his head he bowed.

"King Edmund, we Birds have aught to report around the island. Flinder and Chaleen have found where the High King's party was ambushed. They await you along the trail."

"Lead on," I ordered. I had to force the words out. Phillip glanced back at me before he set off between the two Centaurs. I must have looked very close to being sick because he deliberately smoothed his gait.

We picked a cautious route through the hills. Chaleen caught up with us, her shaggy coat all dusty, and guided us with her easy grace and quick steps. Close to Lake Asher I could see signs of a skirmish and I stared down rather than at the looming remains of the castle. We stopped amidst the destruction and the archers fanned out. The ground was trampled and torn up in spots and dark blood stained the dirt and rocks. There seemed to be so much of it. Was any of it Peter's? Flinder emerged from the low brush dotting the area. His gold-green eyes were bright with anticipation as he padded towards the spot where I waited with Xati and Kanell.

"Sire, this is where the fight took place," said he. Pointing with his paw, he indicated the hills slightly to the south. "Someone bled up there. Jett, mayhap, since Peterkins said she ran away."

I looked to where he pointed. I had little training in tracking, but even I could tell something large had been pulled through the grass by something larger - there was a long smear of red through the flattened plants.

Phillip, who disliked the smell of blood, shifted nervously. I knew the thought of any horse being killed - Talking or otherwise - was upsetting to him. "They weren't exactly subtle," he muttered.

"They're Ettins," Xati responded in disgust. "Flinder, can you smell what was here?"

"The stench of Ettin is covering the area, Lieutenant. The Apis cousins died over there. A Giant bled right here. Boris was slain closer to the lake, just as Peterkins reported. King Edmund, there is something you should see over here."

I dismounted and followed the Bobcat, the others trailing close behind us as he lead me towards the low bushes where he had been lying in wait for us. The ground was churned up so badly I was reminded of the main battlefield of Beruna. I paused to look at the impression of a Giant's footstep. Sweet Lion, it was longer than my arm.

"Your Majesty," said the Cat, bringing me back to the here-and-now. I knelt beside the bush Flinder indicated, peering through the half-grown leaves. I saw a glint of red and gold, then pushed the branches out of my way.

Rhindon.


	7. All That Was Found

**Chapter Seven: All That Was Found**

_'. . . The first to suffer  
were the people on the land, but before long  
it was their treasure-giver who would come to grief.'_

_- Beowulf, lines 2309-2311_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I reached far forward and laid my hand upon the hilt of my brother's sword, drawing it free of the earth and brush. A familiar, metallic ring broke the silence as the steel blade brushed against stone. Either I was suddenly weak or the sword weighed far more than I remembered, it seemed to take all my strength to lift Rhindon clear of where it had fallen. Holding it before me, I gazed up the sword's length.

Dried, brown blood smeared the tip and the length of the keen blade. I felt a swell of pride, glad that Peter had exacted _some_ price for this affront. I wiped it clean on my tunic before thrusting the sword into my belt. Rhindon was longer than Shafelm and heavier, the cross-guard resting high and tight against my ribs, but I would carry it until I could return it to Peter. I turned back to Phillip and the assembled soldiers. Drawing a deep breath, I said the words I had never imagined myself speaking:

"To the castle."

It was no easy task picking a route along the submerged causeway and I walked rather than rode for fear of Phillip slipping and falling. The icy water over the uneven stones reached almost as high as my knees at times, but Kanell stayed close by me every step of the way. We were silent, moving with weapons drawn, and when we gained the island Kanell motioned for Flinder and two of the archers to circle the castle. They were back in a few agonizing minutes, shaking their heads. They had nothing to report.

"Stay back," ordered the mighty Centaur to me, motioning the other three Centaurs and the archers forward. I stood waiting beside Phillip and the rest of the party, trying not to look at the towering entrance I remembered so well. Lucy had told me how the doors had been broken off their hinges by Aslan when he had freed the White Witch's victims. I would have given anything to have the Lion beside me now as we stood in the castle's shadow, but the fact that he wasn't here told me that the means to save Peter lay within our own powers. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

A Satyr poked his head through the doorway and motioned that the way was clear. The three Birds went first, swooping through the portal as we followed just behind them. Inside all was dirty and dark and mercifully empty of statues. I hurried over to Kanell.

"King Edmund, you are our guide," he stated softly. "Where would Giants go? Where would they easily fit?"

I was struck mute as panic at being back in this place gripped me for a moment. Kanell's question was unexpected but he was absolutely right. I was the only one in our party and one of the few beings in Narnia that had entered this place and left alive. There were equal parts of sympathy and understanding in the captain's eyes as he turned to me, but I knew full well my feelings would not be allowed to interfere in this quest to rescue my brother, either by the Centaur or by me.

"King Edmund?"

Swallowing my anxiety, I nodded and pointed straight ahead. "The throne room is down there, through that arch," I said in a voice that didn't seem to be quite mine. So long as I didn't have to step foot in Jadis' private chambers, I was fairly confident I could keep myself from going to pieces until after we had Peter back.

We moved forward and the entrance quickly gave way to the vast chamber where I had met Maugrim and where I had received my first hint of Jadis' true nature. I held Shafelm in a white-knuckled grip as all around me, the archers remained tense and ready, arrows notched in their bows as they fanned out through the room.

Suddenly Kanell gasped in horror, the last sound I ever expected to hear out of him. I started to turn his way, saw a smear of red and caught a whiff of death, but he seized me, his hand clamping around my right wrist and hand, locking my fingers around Shafelm's grip and holding my sword arm well away from us both. His huge form blocked my view as he forced me backwards, removing me bodily from the room.

"Don't look, King Edmund!"

Anything that could disturb Kanell so completely must be horrifying indeed. Only one thought occurred to me, though, and in a split second I went from apprehensive to a state of frenzy.

"_Peter! No! Peter! Let me go! Kanell, let me go! PETER!"_

I fought against his iron hold as he dragged me away from whatever he had seen. My shrill voice echoed through the room, a desperate scream of sheer terror that was echoed in the gasps of the soldiers. I had felt this rage before - the day I had been knighted, at Beruna, and in my most dreadful nightmares - and it always spurred me to move, to act, to fight. I had no word for the emotion gripping me - more consuming than loss, deeper than panic, controllable only through understanding. Struggling, I didn't even know what I was doing or why or what I really wanted. I just tried to reach whatever it was that Kanell was protecting me from. The captain set me down hard on my heels, pinning me in place a few paces outside the throne room and letting the shock of pain bring me back to the moment. He held me by the elbow and wrist and he looked down at me sternly, locking his gaze with mine.

"I don't think it's your brother, Sir Edmund, but if it is I _will_ tell you. _Wait right here_," he ordered tightly.

He glared until I reluctantly nodded. Phillip, Xati and Ninia stood close by as Kanell released me. He gently cuffed me on the back of the head as was his habit when he was pleased with something I had done before he returned to the throne room. His reluctance to let me see the bodies had me confused, for I was no stranger to death. I stared at his back, my throat aching and my chest tight with strain as I exerted every effort to keep my word.

What followed was the worst, longest, most agonizing ten minutes of my life, worse even than waiting for midnight every night for more than four months last year. Fear to match the horror I had felt in this very house once before seized me. I was forced to sheath Shafelm before I dropped it. I knew far too well what it was like to wait for your own execution.

This was worse.

Phillip stood nearby but he knew better than to try to get me to talk or be still. I rested my trembling hand on the Horse's neck for a few moments before pushing off and pacing some more. I tried to turn my thoughts to Aslan, hoping the mere mention of the great Lion would soothe me, but my heart was beating too hard for calmness and it was all I could do to control my breaths to stop myself from hyperventilating. I paced and fidgeted and tried to keep from vomiting up the contents of my stomach.

_Not Peter. Not Peter. Not my brother. Please, Aslan, don't let whatever they found be Peter. Let him be alive and waiting for me to reach him. Please, Aslan, I'm begging you. He's your king. He's my king. He's my only brother. Don't let him be hurt. Don't let it be him. Please . . . he's been hurt too often._

On and on went my thoughts. Perhaps Aslan had made a mistake in telling me he always heard and answered my prayers because right now he would be listening to little more than a riot going on in my head.

I winced when I heard someone being sick in the next room. That did not bode well and reminded my own nervous stomach it would love nothing better than to empty itself. I was getting close that, was a certainty. Sweat beaded on my brow despite the cool and I felt light-headed. Why me? Peter never got sick in a crisis. If Kanell didn't get back here soon I knew I was going to do something drastic - scream or faint or go charging into the throne room regardless.

"Majesty," whispered Ninia.

I whirled at the far point of my pacing to see Kanell returning. Dread and hope vied for supremacy in my breast as I rushed to him, trying to speak, trying to see the answer I wanted in his dark, expressionless face. He leaned far over and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Your brother is not there, my king."

I gasped in relief, my knees suddenly weak. Kanell was the only thing that held me upright as I collected myself. I clung weakly to his arms, my head bowed. Not Peter. It was not Peter. That was not his blood. My brother did not lie among the dead in the next room. Xati passed me a water skin and I drank gratefully. I looked up at the captain, forcing my teeth not to chatter as I asked,

"Who is in there, Kanell?"

"All of his guard . . . and Jett."

_Oh, no. Mighty Aslan, no. Oh, Peter . . ._

"Killed?" I asked, never realizing so gruesome a question could betray my innocense and ignorance.

He pursed his lips. "Edmund, they have been devoured. There is naught but broken bones and hide left."

I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth. Eaten? _Eaten?_ That was the last thing I expected him to say. What gross cannibalism was this?

"Show me."

"No."

"Captain . . ."

"King Edmund, you have seen honorable death in battle and you have faced death with valor and courage few could match, but what's in that room is murder. Trust me, Sire, you do not want to see it."

Peter had seen it. Of that I was certain. Horrible events had a way of entrapping my poor brother. I swallowed. Kanell was quite right, of course. The last thing I needed was more fodder for nightmares.

"Where is Peter, then? Where have they taken him?"

"The soldiers are checking. I suspect, Majesty, that there is far more to this castle than meets the eye."

I was about to make a reply when Ninia let out a little warning nicker. We both turned, hands poised over our weapons, at a sound from the entrance. Kanell placed himself between me and the doors.

"Kanell?" called Athan, wise enough not to enter without leave. The remainder of our troop had caught up.

"Come!" called the Centaur.

The Dwarfs and Boar and other small Animals filed in behind Athan. Immediately the Gorilla approached us, bowing to me before asking of the captain, "What word?"

"The High King's guard and horse have been slaughtered," the captain replied. "The king himself is missing and there are no signs that the Ettins are still here."

"King Edmund!"

All eyes turned to Gicelus as the Faun hurried out of the throne room carrying something long and flat and painfully familiar: Rhindon's sheath. He passed it to me and I gripped it tightly in both hands, somehow even more affected at seeing the sheath than the sword it housed. Phillip made a little sound of distress.

"Where did you find this?" I asked. "Was it in the throne room?"

"Nay, Sire, but in a hall off the dais."

Despite myself I flinched as if I had been struck. The hall lead to stairs. Go down and you were in an ice dungeon. Go up and you entered a chamber far, far worse than any prison. Sadly, I knew them both.

I couldn't look at any of my fellows, afraid of what I might betray with my expression. Despite my gloves my fingers felt icy cold as I drew Rhindon from my belt. I handed it to Gicelus to hold as I began to undo the straps holding Shafelm on my left hip. I moved my sword to my right side, then carefully strapped Rhindon's sheath to my left hip.

Kanell, teacher, soldier, and sword master, took Rhindon from the Faun and approached me. He slid the blade into the empty sheath, adjusted the straps, then rested his hands on my shoulders. I finally forced myself to look up at him and as I did so I wondered where I had ever found the temerity to challenge him to a sword fight. His eyes were full of understanding.

"Don't try to draw them both at once," he advised softly. "Rhindon, then Shafelm."

That was all, but I needed nothing more. Until I could return it to Peter, Rhindon was now my primary weapon. The weight was as reassuring as Kanell's advice because he hadn't ordered me _not_ to use my brother's sword. He just wanted to make certain I didn't hurt myself in my zeal. Lion knows I'd certainly done so in the past.

I nodded to Kanell, ready now for what needed to be done. Drawing a deep breath, I stood straight and tall and resolute as I turned to Gicelus.

"Show me exactly where you found this sheath."


	8. Caverns Measureless to Man

**Chapter Eight: Caverns Measureless to Man**

_'. . . under the crag. No coward path.  
Hard by the rock face that hale veteran,  
a good man who had gone repeatedly  
into combat and danger and come through,  
saw a stone arch and a gushing stream  
that burst from the barrow, blazing and wafting  
a deadly heat. It would be hard to survive  
unscathed . . .'_

_Beowulf, _lines 2541-2548

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Kanell and Xati kept to either side of me and I did not even try to look to the side to see the pile of drying bones and hide. I held my breath at the stench of blood and waste as we followed the Faun to the steps to where Jadis' throne was little more than a melting chunk of ice. I did not want to be disrespectful to the dead, but my concern was for the living and if I lingered over the devoured remains of Peter's guard then their valiant sacrifices would all be in vain. That, and most likely I would be embarrassingly sick.

Never would I have imagined that my time in Jadis' company could be put to good use, but I was the only one here who knew my way around what remained of her castle. Rhindon's sheath banged against my thigh as I scaled the dirty steps, a constant reminder of what had been taken from me. We moved past what was left of the throne and entered the hall beyond. Without Jadis' magic to give it light it seemed old and dull. Gicelus pointed out where he had found the sheath a few paces down the hall. There was a lingering foulness in the air not entirely confined to the stench of death. I smelt sweat and unwashed bodies.

Xati saw my expression. "Clearly they don't bathe."

"The scent goes down this corridor, Kanell," rumbled Shikov, as keen on the trail as any hound. Xati snorted, plainly of the opinion that calling it a scent was coming it pretty high.

"To the dungeons," I said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "Come."

I could not help but rush past the stairs leading upwards and I had to force my legs to move as I lead the way to the stairs going down to the dungeon. The stink of Ettin persisted, mingled with a smell of mud and rot. The soldiers pushed their way to the front, blocking me with their own bodies.

"Shikov, Chaleen, Flinder," ordered Kanell.

I watched with burning anxiety as the three brave Animals picked their way down the stairs. I had a terrible vision of Ettins lying in wait for them, but Kanell would not have sent them thus if he thought they were stepping into danger. This part of the castle was older than the rest and the steps were made of stone, not ice. Everything was wet and dripping as the structure melted away. A draft of air moved upwards from the dungeons carrying with it a smell of decomposed vegetation and the rotten egg stench of mud. I frowned. What was down there that could smell so putrid?

"Were there any other dungeons besides this one, Majesty?" Kanell asked softly.

I shrugged. "Not that I got to see."

We all tensed as Chaleen returned, her paws muddy.

"Majesty! Kanell! The dungeons are empty as far as we may tell, but . . . this you must see!"

She lead the way back down. The long, steep steps caused Kanell some consternation and he picked a very cautious path. I waited at the top of the stairs as Xati followed him.

"Pauton," she called to one of the Dwarfs, "bring torches!"

With a faint grumble one of the Red Dwarf archers hurried back in the direction of the throne room as Xati backed down the stairs. Going up was not a problem for them, but going down such shallow stairs took some maneuvering. If either Centaur lost their footing the person waiting at the bottom would be flattened. Finally the pinto mare reached the lower level where she was swallowed by the darkness. Several long minutes passed before Pauton returned with a burning brand in hand and several additional torches stuffed under his arm. The other archers took the torches to illuminate our way as we descended.

I moved with care, half-expecting to feel the prod of a whip in my back or to hear the sneering voice of Ginarrbrik. The odd, echoing sounds I heard were much like laughter in a way, mirthless and pointless. Had Peter felt a similar unease?

There was a thick layer of mud filling the wide hall. It lead to a very large, high room where prison cells lined two of the walls. I thought back, vaguely remembering a corridor standing opposite the stairs leading deeper into the pit. Flinder and Shikov stood at the far end of the chamber not far from the cell where I had first met Tumnus, sniffing at the darkness down the hall.

"Look!"

Pauton moved forward, holding his torch high.

There were the signs of large creatures passing through pressed deeply into the mud - huge boot marks and, less distinct, imprints of feet bundled in cloth leading across the floor to the hall beyond. The heavy doors which I vaguely remembered opening to the hall were gone and the footprints vanished beneath a pile of rubble a few yards down. The passage had been collapsed, blocking the way.

"This is fresh," Pauton declared in a tone of voice that broached no argument. One did not argue with Dwarfs about matters of stone and earth any more than one argued with Centaurs over the movement of the stars and planets.

"How fresh?" I demanded.

Two more Red Dwarfs pressed forward, torches in hand as they examined the mess with expert, critical eyes, running dirt between their fingers and gazing up at the remains of the arched roof.

"No more than two days, Your Majesty," said the youngest Dwarf.

"Scarce more than one!" exclaimed the Dwarf next to him with a disgusted snort, shaking his head as if at a greenhorn.

"Hark!" said Pauton, raising a hand for silence. We froze in place, straining our ears and hardly daring to breathe. I could hear a faint noise, what my imagination had mistaken for laughter before.

"What is it?"

"Water, King Edmund," Pauton said softly. "Just over twenty yards ahead I'd say and . . . running in the open."

His fellow Dwarfs nodded, their red beards waggling in a rare moment of agreement.

"How fresh are those prints? As fresh as this fall?" I indicated the pile of roughly cut stones filling the hall.

They swarmed down off the rubble and bent low over the footprints, holding their beards out of the mud and muttering to themselves. They conferred, had a brief, whispered argument which Pauton won, then they all nodded again.

"We believe so, Your Majesty."

I pointed at the mass of rocks and dirt and refuse.

"_Clear that hall."_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

One of the marvelous things about Dwarfs - and they are remarkable beings in more ways than I can list - is the fact that no matter where they go in Narnia, they have cousins nearby. Family is extremely important to them and they can spend a great deal of time and beer detailing their heritage all the way back to the dawn of Narnia. (I know this because last year I had to listen to the genealogy of the Black Dwarfs working the Blue River Smithy time and again - a very dull litany after two generations and one repetition). They delight in being called upon to help their kin no matter how distant the relationship might be and don't really consider assisting a family member to be work.

So it was that two of the three Red Dwarf archers with me were able to call upon relatives in the Lantern Waste. Fulton and Piper were sent out and within two hours - during which time we began to clear what stones we could - a dozen or more local Dwarfs showed up with tools and food and boundless enthusiasm. They heard the tale of the attack upon Peter and his party, grew furious, got over it, and set to clearing the hall with a vengeance. More Dwarfs showed up as word spread, even some Black Dwarfs who did not want to be left out of things. The soldiers and I cleared out of their way, knowing we would only hinder the crews, though the Dwarfs did call upon the Centaurs for the heaviest hauling.

I could not, would not stay in the castle as we waited. I chose instead to walk around and around the little island for hours on end, nursing a headache and a nervous stomach. I heard Kanell order some of the soldiers to sort the heap of bones and hide as best they could and wrap the remains in blankets so they could be transported for burial. At his request I stayed well away until that gory task was complete. Part of me felt guilty, as if I was somehow being disrespectful to Vimal and his troop by not helping, but the thought of the task nauseated me and I decided it was better to stay away than be sick. Phillip pointed out in one of my countless circuits past him that I was a king even before I was a soldier, and just as we stood aside to let the Dwarfs work, at times I had to stand aside and let the soldiers work.

Finally, exhausted and worn out by too much thinking, I settled down on the far side of the island and stared at Lake Asher, idly collecting rocks and throwing them into the water to watch the splashes. I had no fear of hitting any Naiades - the water here was poisoned, not Divine. I had not known this was a lake when I first came to this place; it was far more appealing now than in the winter, even if it was a lonely spot. I looked to the sun and with a shock I realized it could not have been more than two or three hours past noon. Only this morning I had been joking with Phillip and Athan as we ate breakfast before traveling on to Beaversdam to adventure ourselves upon Mrs. Beaver's cooking. So much had happened in a remarkably short amount of time. It was like being in battle - time takes on a new meaning when you are fighting for your country and your life.

Or for your brother.

"Majesty?"

I looked up as Athan deftly climbed down the rocky slope to join me by the water. The Gorilla bowed and said, "Kanell has sent me with a message for Sir Edmund How."

I grumbled and smiled despite myself. An understanding had been struck up with me and Peter on one side and Oreius, Celer, and Kanell on the other as soon as we began training under the Cair's three sword masters. When we were on the training grounds or in the classroom, Peter and I were knights and subject to the command of our general and the two captains. That authority had gradually been expanded to cover times of necessity or emergency, and our three teachers established a crisis or a need to give us orders by the simple act of addressing us by our chivalric titles. It was not a thing they misused or abused - such conduct was not in their nature - so Peter and I knew to listen when we were thus addressed.

With a quiet sigh I asked, "What word for Sir Edmund, good Athan?"

The Gorilla smiled faintly. "You must eat, King Edmund. Kanell has ordered all the soldiers to stand down save for those on watch. The Dwarfs are working with good will and they will alert us to their progress. So the captain bids you rest and stop wearing a path around the island."

"I can't."

Athan's intelligent eyes softened and I knew the answer was his, not the Centaur's. "Then try, good my king. Please."

I sighed, beaten. "I'll be over in a few minutes, Athan, I promise."

He took my meaning and with a bow he moved away, silent and graceful for one so large. I watched until he was out of sight, then turned back to look at Lake Asher. The empty, unknowing depths reflected the clouds above and a cool breeze sent a shiver down my spine as I stared at the watery desert. Where was Peter? Why had they taken him? Was he a hostage? Their dinner? Was he even still alive? Any ransom short of my sisters I would gladly pay the Ettins and consider it well spent to get him back. The past year and a half had taught me what was truly valuable and my family's love was priceless.

Without realizing I was moving I drew Rhindon - a much longer stroke than I was used to even with Shafelm II - and when I knelt down with the sword inverted before me it was too long for me to rest my head against the cross-guard as was my habit when I bowed down to pray, so instead I rested my head against my forearms. I was too overwrought emotionally to form a coherent prayer. Instead a single word echoed through my mind:

_Aslan._

Once upon a time hearing that name had left me unmoved. I was glad those days were long gone. I felt a familiar calm sweep over me and a memory of being cradled in velvet paws.

"Aslan," I whispered. What did I want to say, to ask? There was too much to articulate. I wanted Peter. I wanted Narnia to be safe. I wanted the Dwarfs to work faster. I wanted to undo the past few days. I wanted to know all that had happened and I was afraid to know. I wanted the Ettins to be punished and the dead laid to rest with dignity and I wanted to be far, far away from this accursed place and safely home in Cair Paravel with my sisters and brother. There was so much. How to say it?

I drew a deep breath, smelling the moist breeze and grass. "Aslan," I began anew, "please help me to return this sword to its rightful owner."

I kissed the Lion pommel, then rose and with a little difficulty slid Rhindon back home in its sheath. There. That was the sum and total of all that I really wanted.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I came to my senses and woke up as I was climbing down the steep stairs to the dungeon once again. Phillip had roused me just a few minutes before midnight from a heavy, dreamless sleep - never an enjoyable prospect for any of the parties involved - to tell me the hall was cleared. I had no memory of having fallen asleep and for a few moments I had no idea of where I was. I had not understood what Phillip was saying at first, nor would I believe I was still wearing my boots, but he had no mercy and nudged me along with his nose through the Witch's castle to where Gicelus waited at the foot of the dais, holding a lantern and ready to escort me. Like my dear siblings the Horse was undeterred by my waking attitude, and I swear the army found it amusing. All my snapping and growling was met by suppressed humor.

I was astonished by the number of Dwarfs working in the dungeon. There must have been thirty or more Red and Black Dwarfs setting to the task I had given them. What was amazing was that they were getting along - normally the two clans derived great pleasure out of provoking each other. I wasn't sure if Xati had threatened the lot of them or if they were united for the sake of their High King's rescue. I didn't care either way, so long as I figured out where the Ettins had taken Peter. Great piles of stone and refuse filled the empty rooms and even the mud had been cleared away. I couldn't help but glance off to the right and I was pleased to see my former cell was completely filled with muck and rock.

By the light of torches and lanterns Kanell looked like a gigantic shadow as he stepped out of the hall and moved forward to meet me. Pauton was right beside him carrying a lantern. They both gave me abbreviated bows.

"This way, Sire," said the Dwarf, and I followed him into the newly cleared hall. Timbers sheared up the walls and parts of the roof. At one point the roof opened up to the room above. Pauton shook his head at the collapsed floor and muttered, "Poor workmanship," before continuing. As we advanced the sound of running water grew louder and louder until -

The roughly cut stones of the floor ended abruptly even though the corridor did not. Several Dwarf workers awaited me with torches and lanterns held aloft so I could see what they had found. I felt Kanell's hand clamp down on my sword belt as I leaned far forward to see.

The earth and foundation had been eroded away to bedrock, exposing a natural cave beneath the castle. To my left a jagged tunnel cut upwards at a sharp angle through building and ground alike, and through this tunnel poured a constant stream of water. I followed the water with my eyes as it ran off to the right. The angle lessened gradually, still following the wide tunnel downwards into the darkness. I could hear the water echoing as if in a large underground chamber, though my eyes could not penetrate the darkness, and a faint, stinking breeze stirred my hair. The tunnel must have opened in the castle or . . .

Under the lake.

I gasped quietly, the implications of this hitting me. I took a flaming brand from one of the Dwarfs and in one sharp move threw it with all my strength off to the right, into the draft. I strained against the sword belt and Kanell's hold to follow the flickering point of light. I had a fleeting glimpse of rough stairs, pillars like melted rock, and a vast cavern before the torch hit the mud and sizzled out.

My mind awhirl, I stared at the spot, unable to even stand up yet. Here were so many answers all at once. This was why the level of Lake Asher had dropped - either the door had opened below the level of the lake when it was frozen or the water had eroded the masonry. Whatever the case, the Ettins must have opened a door and let loose such a torrent as to flood these rooms and caves. What a shock, to be met by a wall of water instead of a wall of ice! I wished it had drowned the lot of them. This must have been the route the Ettins used to enter and leave Narnia unseen. This must be where they carried Peter.

Kanell hauled me back by the belt, setting me down right beside him. I barely noticed. I was too busy thinking.

"Has anyone been down there?" I demanded.

"Yes," said the Centaur, well aware of what I wanted to know. "There are footprints in the mud that match the ones we saw in the dungeon."

I stared into the darkness, thinking of Peter engulfed in that cold, unrelenting night. Was he as frightened as I was right now? Most likely not, Peter was not easily firghtened. I knew he was as determined as I.

Something in my memory stirred. Something about caverns and the deep networks they formed . . .

"Could these caverns reach all the way to the Northern Marches or Ettinsmoor?"

One of the Dwarfs, a Black Dwarf, let out a little huff. "Majesty, for all we know these caverns could reach as far as the Aslan's Country." At my glare he added hastily, "But yes, King Edmund, they could. There are caverns under the Dancing Lawn that reach as far as Pillar Wood."

That was all I needed to hear. "If they went this way, we're going, too." Turning on my heel, I strode down the hall. "Kanell, ready the troop! Lay in supplies if you haven't already. We'll bring only the soldiers capable of climbing, the rest will remain here. Gicelus, fetch me Tell, Fulton, and Piper. Quickly!"

I went no further than the throne room in order to say goodbye to Phillip. He knew before I spoke what I was going to say and do; he was sullen and unhappy at being left behind even though he understood my reasoning. Around us the soldiers and Dwarfs scurried about and I realized they had anticipated my orders, probably before I even woke up.

The two Kites and the Raven I had summoned flew into the throne room and perched on a ledge close to where I stood with Phillip. They waited for me to be done speaking to my friend, but I gestured the Horse to join us.

"Hear this, Phillip," I ordered. I looked to the couriers. "Good Birds, I have a mission for you."


	9. The Luxury of History

**Chapter Nine: The Luxury of History**

_'Hence, understanding is always best  
and a prudent mind. Whoever remains  
for long herein this earthly life  
will enjoy and endure more than enough.'_

_- Beowulf, _lines 1058-1061

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

As I trudged behind Valerlan's broad back - keenly aware of the three Palish Giants behind me and the hungry, hostile looks they cast my way - I wondered at what drove the first daring soul to explore so deeply into this maze of caverns. Were they fleeing some enemy or was it merely curiosity that drove them to search as deeply as they could until the unknown became familiar? Had any Ettin ever looked upon these colored minerals and seen beauty or were these paths merely the means to an end? How long had they been venturing into Narnia? Why?

I considered my plight with each step that carried me further and further away from Narnia and my family. At every opportunity I studied the mass of knots securing the leather rope pinning my wrists. I had to conclude - albeit unwillingly - that there was no hope of untying my hands for the leather had swollen and the knots were solid. It was damp here beneath the earth, with underground streams and a veritable rain of water dripping down from above and slowly building up the mineral deposits. The rope could only be cut away and I doubted Valerlan would let me get close to anything sharp enough to sever leather.

"Hatta!" Valerlan's voice rang out through the pillared chamber.

There was a grumble from behind and the Ettin backed off before he could launch another childish attack upon me. Hatta in particular took great pleasure in prodding or tripping me and Valerlan kept a sharp eye upon him. The unnecessary distraction infuriated the crown prince.

"Touch him again, slow us down any more, or harm my father's prize and you _will_ regret it."

I already _did_ regret it, and Hatta just tried to be subtle in tormenting me. Haigha was likewise amused and Storr was torn between his peers and his brother.

Even if I did manage to escape, I had no idea of how to get out of here or what markers the Ettins were following. I looked, but I saw nothing to set our directing apart from other caverns branching off from here. I had no food, no fire, no means of seeing my path and no idea of where my path lay anyway. Given the chance to escape I would take it, for I far preferred to risk the unknown than the known in this particular case, but Valerlan had his prize and he had no intention of losing me.

It was a very strange sensation to think that my freedom had been taken away so completely and I was forced to depend upon the charity of my captors for the most basic necessities. Never before in my life had I been in such a helpless position. Even when I faced the Lord of Mists, the Unseelie King, I had been very far from vulnerable. This was quite a frightening feeling, though I did my best to hide my reaction to the situation. I could not lash out physically or verbally out for fear of rousing Valerlan's volatile temper - I did not need to compound my injuries and he was quick with his fists. He had drawn his punch when he knocked me out and his full fury would kill me. I suspected if anyone was destined to be struck it was Hatta, but that didn't mean I wanted to tempt fate.

I had no idea how long we walked after Valerlan finally pried his fellows away from the corpse of the drowned Ettin, but a lack of food and rest was rapidly catching up to me. Tack on a headache and the constant stench of unwashed bodies and you had the perfect formula for misery. How long had we been down here? Was it day or night? Did Edmund even know what had happened to me yet? Had Peterkins found Edmund? I knew Phillip would hold Lake Asher responsible for this situation. Perhaps there was something to the Horse's theory that water couldn't be trusted around me. I couldn't recall anything I'd done to be provoking, though.

I could picture my brother's reaction to the news that I had been attacked and seized: that frown he never realized he made, the hard look that came to his eyes, the shift in body language from alert to threatening. He would speak in clipped tones and sharp words, unconscious of the change until his goal was achieved. As I thought about it I realized how dear that shift was to me and how much I relied upon it to offset my own moods. We brought balance to each other - when I got angry, he grew calm; when his eyes narrowed and his expression grew dark, I was serene. Oreius said that on the rare occasions when our reactions aligned the very foundations of the world trembled.

Unable to see well and worn out by being forced to match their long strides, I stumbled, hissing in pain at stubbed toes. The trio behind me laughed as if watching something suffer was a delight to the eyes. For them the only thing more entertaining would to be the ones causing the pain.

"We'll stop here to rest," Valerlan announced after getting a good look at me in the wane torchlight. "Hatta, Haigha, build a fire."

They obeyed gladly enough, though clearly they were confused. I suspected the Ettins were capable of walking much further, but I think Valerlan recognized that I had reached the limit of my endurance for now. Exhausted, I settled down as far away as that increasingly annoying tether would allow. There was no more mud here - just the stuff clinging to my boots and clothes - and hard, cold stone and dripping water. Soon a fire crackled before us, the damp wood gathered from the flood sputtering and popping and casting little heat. The flames illuminated the cave and sent shadows dancing. The roof was covered with stalactites as thin as reeds and there were graceful veils of pale stone hanging up above. It was all so very beautiful and I would have paid anything never to have seen any of it.

They pulled out from their packs horrid-smelling fish that did not seem well dried and some type of flat bread. They set to with noisy gusto that made my stomach turn. I was ravenous but I had no desire to eat anything of their making. I stared into the fire, my thoughts and my eyes becoming heavy and dim, and I longed for sleep.

Something was dropped in my lap and I roused with a start. I looked down to see a large hunk of the bread, then up at Valerlan. I was too weary to hide my surprise as he stood before me and handed me a piece of hard, yellowed cheese the size of my own fist.

"Eat," he ordered.

Unwillingly I obeyed, my bound wrists making the motions awkward. The bread was chewy and gritty and bland, the cheese very salty and bland. Eaten together, they were perfectly awful. I thought longingly of the field rations I had carried in Jett's saddlebags: dried fruits and spicy meats and the hard, crisp seed cakes which Edmund and I both loved. For the first time, roasted crow and stewed nettles seemed appealing.

"I would like some water, please." My voice was scratchy and the fact that I spoke at all surprised them. Valerlan held out his own wooden cup and I displayed my bound hands. There was no way I could hold it thus; the cup was the size of a bucket. Realizing, he smirked and filled the cup with water from a skin, holding it before me so I could lean over to drink as if out of a pool. The water tasted stale and mineral-heavy, but I drank my fill. "Thank you."

Manners, it seemed, were as alien to them as bathing and the three simpletons laughed as I acted in a civilized manner. Valerlan said nothing, but I knew he was observing me and how I might respond to their jibes. I said nothing, ignoring them completely. Their own gross behavior would not keep me from conducting myself as I saw fit, not just as a king but simply as Peter Pevensie. I also hoped they wouldn't keep me from sleeping because I was well and truly knocked up. Luckily I had been blessed with the ability to drop off just about anywhere and under any conditions; this was not the worst bed I had ever laid upon.

I don't know how long I was asleep, but a low keening sound roused me. I lifted my head, sitting up partially. Storr was making the moan, his grief evident as he and his two fellows mourned for the drowned Ettins. I listened with vague interest, hoping to drift off again, as they whispered the virtues of the dead. The lists were short and the virtues questionable.

"She was Hatta's niece," Valerlan said softly behind me.

I turned and looked at him where he leaned against a pillar of smooth stone, watching his brother and subjects and now me as well. I wondered that he wasn't taking part in this ceremony.

"The Bulls they killed were first cousins," I replied, sliding my legs beneath me and sitting up. "The Satyr was a father. The Civet was newly married."

He shot me a quick glance then looked back at his fellows. He shrugged. "We live. We die. If we were loved, we are mourned. If we were despised, we are celebrated. We're still dead."

I frowned as this pessimistic view. "Then perhaps what matters is how we're remembered."

He snorted. "_If_ we're remembered. If there remains enough of your people left to have the luxury of remembering."

Something Mathe, the old Faun that taught me and Edmund rhetoric, had once said came to mind. '_What are we, King Peter, if not the sum of all we have seen and done and learned? We are not wise until we have passed on what we know and we have not lived until we have loved.'_

"You consider history and remembrance a luxury?"

"You would, too, little king, if you stood as close to desperation as my people. Look at them. _That_ is what has become typical of my race."

The trio of gibbering, sobbing Ettins clung to each other, rocking too and fro as they chanted the names of the dead. They seemed to be egging each other on so, taking their display to the extreme as they tried to outdo one another. They were pathetic and their overblown show of personal loss made a mockery of any real grief. Yet . . . something told me they thought this was what was expected of them. It was very odd and rather like watching children showing off to each other.

"To think that our forefathers built Harfang." Valerlan sighed and shook his head.

That surprised me. I had never seen the Giantish city, just artists' renditions of it in books in the Cair's library. I had never really given much thought to its origins, having quite enough to occupy my time as I helped run a country. Still, I could see why he was so eager to converse all the time. The opportunities for intelligent conversation - even conversing with someone that despised him as I did - must have been few and far between. Valerlan must have been terribly lonely all his life, surrounded as he was by crude simpletons. I feared I understood him better than I wanted to, probably better than he would ever understand me. "Ettins built Harfang?"

"Can you imagine the Northern Giants constructing anything more complex than a fire?" he snapped bitterly. "My people built it and the Northern Giants in their jealousy invaded and drove us out of our own home. We were forced westwards, where we established another kingdom . . . if you can call it such in so blighted a land."

Well at least Narnia wasn't to be held responsible for their exile as well. Not yet, anyway.

"What happened?" I asked.

He understood that I was talking not about Harfang, but about his entire race. Smoldering and angry at fate, Valerlan glared not at me, but into the distance.

"History," was all he said.


	10. Down to a Sunless Sea

**Chapter Ten: Down to a Sunless Sea**

_'. . . where cold streams  
pour down the mountain and disappear  
under mist and moorland.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 1359-1361

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Within an hour of walking through the damp, dripping, cold, muddy caverns I knew that if we didn't find Peter soon and get him to where it was warm, dry, and civilized my brother was going to develop pneumonia once again. Peter got pneumonia with the same ease and regularity that Susan got new shoes. He had been doing so well in Narnia up until this past Yule, at which time he was totally justified in growing ill. I hated to think of him getting sick - I was already frightened enough for him having been captured by the Ettins, I didn't need the added fear that fever and endless coughing would bring. Besides, Silvo and Martil had made me sleep in my own room when Peter was so sick. While I could understand their reasoning I did not want to be separated from my brother. Not then, not now. My reasons were my own, but they were very good ones.

We followed the Ettins' trail easily enough. I had to conclude that they felt the collapsed hallway would be a sufficient deterrent to send us slinking away because they made no attempt to hide their passage. Granted it would have been difficult regardless because everything was covered with thick, heavy, stinking mud, but they didn't even try.

We were a party of seventeen. Besides myself there was Kanell and Xati, neither of whom even considered obeying my rule that only those capable of climbing should come, Athan, the three Red Dwarf archers, two Satyrs, three Fauns, Flinder, and a Ring-tailed Lemur from Kanell's troop rounded out the regular soldiers. Shikov also came, a decision I hesitated over until Xati drew me aside and informed me the Boar was a renowned tracker who possessed a better sense of smell than the finest Hound. Swayed by her assurance, I let him come.

At the last minute before venturing into the caverns I had heard my name being called. I had looked up as two Black Dwarfs, grumpy and tough and dangerous, pushed through the crowd. They carried loaded packs and what seemed to be enough equipment for an army. Standing before me, they planted their hands on their hips as if in anticipation of a fight as the first one had said, "We're going with you."

"This is a military expedition," I replied.

The second Dwarf snorted derisively. "We're Sons of the Earth. No one knows her or her ways better than we do and we've wielded our axes in defense of Narnia before."

"Besides," added the first, "you still owe our cousin several casks of wine and at least three weeks of labor."

I should have known they would drag my promise to visit Brickit into this. "Three weeks at the _most_, sir. What are your names?"

"Brant," grunted the first.

"Barin," said the second.

"There is to be no arguing and you are to obey me and the officers. Is that understood?"

They nodded. I returned the gesture and motioned them to join us. I had looked to Kanell to see if he would say anything. The Centaur cast the newcomers a long, assessing look but did not protest their addition to our party.

Then I addressed the volunteer work force. "You all have my undying gratitude for the service you have rendered your kings this day, cousins. I will not forget what you have done. Until we return with my brother, I bid you pray that Aslan stands between Peter and danger."

"And between you and danger, King Edmund," grumbled one of the Black Dwarfs with an emotion that bordered on concern.

I smiled at him. "Aye, sir. He's welcome to stand there, too."

So we were seventeen in all. At a glance it seemed a large number, but when I considered the fact that our opponents were wicked Giants we seemed a pitiful few. I prayed to Aslan that determination and sharp minds would rule the day. Kanell left those behind in the charge of an elderly Satyr lieutenant. I cast Phillip a glance of farewell, and my friend's reassuring nod was the last thing I saw before I entered the caverns.

They were as vast as they were fantastic. The light from our torches and lanterns revealed marvelous formations of stone rising up from the floor or reaching down from the ceiling. The colors were rich and earthy, the sounds were haunting as water dripped and ran and roared all about us. Part of me was awed by the sheer beauty of the place as the earth formed herself into art, but a much greater part of me hated every moment here. It wasn't worth Peter or his health to find this place, though the Dwarfs were stunned into speechlessness at the scope of the chamber immediately beneath the castle, and a quiet Dwarf was not a thing to be questioned but enjoyed.

We picked our course carefully and immediately Brant and Barin proved their worth by helping to find routes that we with our comparatively tiny size could follow without losing the Ettins' trail. More than once we came to massive walls of stone jutting upwards or downwards and there was nothing for it but to climb. The hours Peter and I had spent scaling the cliffs along the shore at Cair Paravel were paying off. I could imagine the Ettins surmounting the barriers with ease, but it was another story for us. Kanell and Xati had the most difficulty, but at the same time they were the most determined and the strongest of the party. They obeyed the directions of the Dwarfs without a contrary word. Of us all Athan was the best at climbing and he often carried one of the Dwarfs or Shikov up and down the cliff faces to find a route. We always found one, and if we hadn't we would have made one.

Running alongside our band all the while was the little river of water pouring in from Lake Asher. Offspring of the River Ashera, the torrent wasn't very wide but it was swift and strong and so loud in the echoing chambers that at times we were forced to shout to make ourselves understood. There was a constant breeze off the water that made our torches sputter and forced us to depend on lanterns for the time being.

"How far do you think we've come?" I asked Pauton.

The Red Dwarf scratched his chin, a universal habit with Dwarfs when they're considering their answer. "We've _walked_ nigh on eight miles, King Edmund. How much distance that figures into I can't say. Not eight miles worth, that's a certainty."

Not even eight miles after exhaustive hours of climbing and crawling and picking a path through the dark and the smelly muck. It was disappointing, but the going was rough and the slowly drying mud from the bottom of Lake Asher was thick and heavy and clung to our boots and hooves like cement.

I didn't know how long we were on the move - the lack of a sky was confusing everyone's sense of time save for the Dwarfs - but I guessed it was close to what would have been dawn when Kanell called a halt and ordered everyone to eat and rest.

"Take four hours sleep," ordered the captain. "Pandicat, take the watch," he ordered the Lemur. "I'll carry you and you can sleep when we move out."

I didn't think I would be able to, but I slept almost the whole allotted time, curled up beneath my cape and leaning against Flinder for warmth. Not even the discomfort of lying on stone with two swords strapped to my waist kept me from sleep. Somehow I woke up on my own, much to the relief of the Bobcat and the soldiers and to the disappointment of the two Black Dwarfs. Apparently they had heard from Brickit that I was worse than a bear waking up from hibernation and they had hopes of seeing a show. It was hard to tell by the faint light, but as I looked around it seemed we were missing a few of our numbers.

"Shikov and Athan roused early and are scouting ahead," Xati told me, reaching a hand out to help me up. "Eat something, my king; Kanell wants to move as soon as they return."

I nodded, and then quietly asked, "Xati, are we going about this right?"

She smiled, her features softening. "Kanell hasn't said anything otherwise, has he? You'd know if he had a better idea, King Edmund."

For all I have an appetite far beyond my twelve years, when I get anxious it tends to desert me. I choked down some rations and stowed what was left in the pack I carried for later and so I didn't have the Centaur mare casting me that hard look at which she was so accomplished. Lieutenant Xati could make soldiers cry and Kanell sigh. I was beginning to think he fancied her. He hid it well, but then I knew him well.

Athan returned, his dark, shaggy fur shiny against the perpetual night. Clearly something had the Gorilla excited. "Shikov is ahead. The way is not difficult, but we have found something you all must see."

It was a gorge carved into the stone, jagged and dangerous, and into this the underground river plunged, swallowed up by the unknowable darkness. We could hear the mighty roar from below as the river founds its way deeper and deeper into the heart of the earth. It sounded like thousands of voices shouting out in surprise, as if the river roared out its farewell and was greeted by the crevasse below. A great cloud of mist rose up and filled the cavern. It was a spectacular sight. What strange lands would the river water? Would it ever escape to see the sun again, or was it trapped forever in the night?

There was no way I could know it at the time, but many years and what seemed like many lifetimes later I learned that the waters running off from the rain and snow from the Northern Mountains gradually accumulated deep in the earth until a vast underground sea was formed. A city would be built in the depths below, inhabited by strange creatures that thrive in the dark and damp, and more than two millennia would pass before my good and noble cousin would stand on the shores of the black water that Jadis and her servants had wrought.

How many people can claim they've witnessed the birth of a subterranean sea? I'm sure most would have been far more impressed than my little party and I. We had more pressing matters and did not linger any longer than it took for Shikov to pick up the trail again.

Not very far beyond the end of the river one of the Faun archers spotted something that filled us all with renewed hope and energy. The mud was not quite so thick here and drying faster than the stuff at the entrance. There, preserved in the mud were a few distinct footprints we immediately recognized. By comparison to the marks left by the Giants they were tiny, but none other than Peter could have made them. They were proof that my brother lived.

Such relief hit me that I might have fallen over but for Barin right beside me. The Dwarf steadied me, muttering, "Guess you'll get the Nancy back after all."

Nancy, I must state here, was the rude nickname my friend Brickit had given Peter the first time I visited the Blue River Smithy and which had somehow trickled down through all the branches of the Black Dwarf clan. Because I could match their humor and attitudes far better than my stuffed shirt of a brother, the Black Dwarfs favored me over him. They were suspicious of anyone that was tall and had different color hair, and because he was bigger than any Dwarf and blond, every word Peter uttered was suspect in their very biased opinions. Brickit had remarked upon two letters from him which were delivered within a week of my arrival at the smithy. Never mind that I was a king and the letters were official business that could not be delayed until my return to Cair Paravel - Brickit had decided that Peter was a worrisome mother hen and just to annoy me, called him Nancy.

I responded to Barin's jibe the exact same way I had responded to Brickit's - with a sharp jab in the ribs with my elbow. I knew he wouldn't get mad and he didn't - rather, he chuckled, pleased with himself for getting a rise out of me. I felt better for the exchange, a dash of private humor amidst all this anxiety.

On we went, occasionally prying the Dwarfs away from particularly interesting formations, until Kanell assigned Flinder to take the rear in order to catch stragglers. The mud grew thinner, making the going easier and the trail a bit more difficult to follow. Shikov went first, his snout to the ground as he followed the spoor of Ettin Giants. He said he could not pick out Peter's scent from the Ettins', but considering their mass and unsavory hygienic habits when compared to my brother, this came as no surprise.

Atop the stench of mud a whole new stench started to fill the cold, stagnant air. The Talking Animals noticed it first, their noses wrinkling in disgust, and then the Fauns and Satyrs and Centaurs began coughing. I was the last to catch the smell, and once I did I was sorry. It was the reek of death and rot on a grand scale.

"Does everything down here stink?" complaineded Xati, producing grumbles of agreement from the archers.

"So far," was Kanell's muttered reply.

We came upon the source of the awful odor not much later: a massive, pale, bloated corpse of an Ettin Giantess. She was wedged into a crevasse that ran parallel to the ground, her face and hands swollen and gross. Clearly she had been dead for many days, a victim of the inital flood that dropped Lake Asher's level and filled these caverns with silt. She had a great tangle of dark hair that spread like tendrils all about her, but her face was strangely clean of dirt and hair.

Pandicat, waking up from her sleep atop Kanell's back, softly spoke. "I wonder who she was."

"I don't," was Brant's sharp reply. "She's one that would have done harm to our High King, given the chance"

Kanell turned to me eagerly. "If the Ettins are like the Giants in Narnia, they will pause to mourn her and any others they might have lost in the flood. We may be able to make up some distance."

I nodded, anxious to be moving, anxious to be away from this hideous form that looked so waxen and unnatural in the torch light. I swallowed, saying nothing, but I was rather surprised at myself. I felt nothing beyond the revulsion the sight and smell of her produced. I did not care that this young Giantess was dead. She was a daughter, perhaps a sister or mother, loved by her family, destined to be missed. She was blameless in the slaughter of Peter's horse and guards, but by virtue of her race's alliance, she was an enemy of Narnia. I wondered at myself only as long as it took for me to remember that Peter was suffering in captivity. By drowning she afforded us a chance to draw closer to my brother, so I supposed in a way I owed her some strange notion of gratitude. Her death could very well mean Peter's life.

I paused, then bowed my head in a moment of respect for the dead. Even our enemies were afforded that much.


	11. Evasive Maneuvers

**Chapter Eleven: Evasive Maneuvers**

_'. . . One of these things,  
as far as anyone ever can discern,  
looks like a woman, warped  
in the shape of a man, moves beyond the pale  
bigger than any man, an unnatural birth . . .'_

_Beowulf, _lines 1349-1353

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Deama is prettier than Noona. She has sky eyes, like the little pet king."

"Noona's smarter."

"I like pretty more than smart."

The subject was women. Not just any women, mind, but I gathered during the course of the endless, pointless, mindless discussion going on about me that Noona was a close cousin that was betrothed to the crown prince and Deama was the younger sister of Storr and Valerlan. I questioned how reliable any assessment of beauty out of the Ettins really was. The Giant women I knew in Narnia were not particularly pretty but they were comely and warm and clever in their own way as they lovingly domineered and indulged their husbands, kindly letting the men think that they were the ones in charge. I wondered if Ettins shared the same type of playful give and take in their relationships that the good Giants enjoyed, but I had my doubts. From the way they talked their women seemed akin to property just a step above cattle and slightly to the side of material possessions.

Such attitudes were not suffered in Narnia and the women of my country were on equal footing with the men. Indeed, most times I think they had the upper hand since courtly manners required that every woman be treated as a lady and more often than not men deferred to their wishes. They commanded respect and were used to receiving it. More than once I had witnessed a visiting dignitary or their pert servants receive sharp reminders that women in my country - be they queens, Talking Animals, Magical Creatures, Walking Trees or Divine Waters - were not to be trifled with unless _they_ chose otherwise. It started with Susan, who could cut down noblemen and their ilk so skillfully they didn't realize it was happening until they had been dead and buried for a sennight, and reached down through every rank all the way to the Hummingbird messenger I had seen jab an ambassador in the nose with her long beak for being cheeky. Now that I thought about it, I supposed all Narnian males were in the same boat as our Giants, some of us just didn't realize it.

I wondered at Valerlan and Storr. Neither Edmund nor I would have ever endured anyone discussing Susan and Lucy in a manner akin to this, as if beauty or intelligence were the standard to judge anyone's worth. Certainly the physical attributes of my sisters were not a topic for discussion, polite or otherwise. I wondered at their hypocrisy, for Storr, Hatta, and Haigha were no prizes. Why did Valerlan tolerate these buffoons speaking about his fiancee so?

The talk never even slowed as we stopped at a deep pool for water. Valerlan called for a rest and I gratefully sank down. My knees and feet were very sore from walking on stone, offsetting the pain in my head, and I was weary from having to constantly pick a safe path through the rubble strewn about that the Ettins were able to ignore. The trail was not an easy one - up and down and twists and turns through this maze of chambers and pillars and dripping water. It reminded me of when I had followed the Great River to its source; there were times when the river's course was so wild that we would cover ten miles to advance two.

"You should marry Deama, Valerlan," Storr advised.

I looked up sharply from where I was getting a drink, shocked. Marry his sister? The notion was to me obscene and immoral. Valerlan cast me a glance then he looked at his brother, keeping his voice low and gentle as he tried to reason with the simpleton.

"I don't love Deama that way, Storr, I love Noona."

"Father wants you to marry Deama."

I froze, wishing I was anywhere else in the world than right here. A truly revolting image was forming in my mind of what this conversation was all about.

"I know what father wants," Valerlan replied evenly. It seemed an old argument between them and I got the feeling he very much desired the subject to be dropped. For once I agreed with him.

Storr didn't know when to cease. "Mother wonders why you don't want Deama. She says the royal blood needs to be preserved. She married her brother, just like our grandparents, so why shouldn't you marry our sister?"

I must have been radiating horror. I sat shock-still and kept my gaze fixed firmly on the barely-visible ripples of water moving across the surface of the pool. What would Phillip say? I should have moved away, but I did not want anyone's attention on me at the moment. Besides, being attacked or snatched away by something in the water would be a welcome alternative to my present situation. I wasn't certain I could trust my immediate reaction to this revelation that explained so very much.

Small wonder Valerlan called his people desperate. If Storr was a typical example of Ettin, did that mean they were all so inbred? I considered Valerlan's disproportionate build and scrunched features, his mismatched legs that made him hobble instead of stride and his overlong arms. He was nothing like the Giants I knew – his smaller size and odd body and keen intellect set him far apart even from his own kind.

How long had this unnatural breeding been going on? Generations, it seemed. Weren't they breaking taboo by marrying siblings? Such a union would never even be considered or tolerated in Narnia.

Valerlan touched his brother's arm. "Marrying our sisters for so long hasn't preserved the royal line, Storr. It's poisoned us."

"You say we're wrong?"

Storr sounded crushed, like a little child who had just been yelled at and didn't know why. My mind flashed back to Edmund, three years old and playing too close to the stairs for me. I had raised my voice at him . . . He didn't remember the incident, but I would never forget the confusion and fear in his eyes that I had caused.

My expression then must have been identical to the one Valerlan wore.

"No," said the younger prince. "_We_ are not wrong. But it won't help our people if I took Deama to wife. Our blood is too thin. What made our people mighty in the past can only be recaptured through the blood heir. His blood is what will lift our children and grandchildren out of the darkness and make us great again."

"Maybe I should marry her, then," reasoned the elder brother.

Valerlan smiled faintly and shook his head. "Don't forget you're already betrothed."

"Then who will Deama marry?" Storr's eyes grew huge. "_That?_ For Deama?"

I froze, horrified. What . . . what did he mean? Was this about some ancient magic or something far, far cruder? Could they actually intend me for their sister's . . . dare I say husband? I did not move a muscle. Fortunately Haigha caused a distraction by grumbling.

"I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," snapped Hatta.

"We can't eat now," Valerlan declared, latching onto any excuse to end this discussion. "We'll eat when we stop to sleep."

There was much grumbling at this and for some reason I found myself the recipient of some vicious glares from Hatta and Haigha. Did they hold me responsible for their hunger? Even with my appetite I consumed a fraction of what they could devour in a sitting. Perhaps in the past Jadis had supplied them with better food for their return journey than half-rotten fish and grainy flat bread.

"We should have brought the horse and goats," muttered Hatta resentfully.

I looked away in revulsion as Valerlan tugged me to my feet once again. I moved stiffly, reluctantly, my mind awhirl with Storr's implications and the memories of seeing Jett slaughtered. Haigha vented his frustration as he gleefully snapped off rows of long, slim stalactites with no respect for the earth's mastery or the vast age of the stone. The sound was like bone cracking and for one confused, horrible moment I was transported back to the throne room of the White Witch's castle. When Valerlan stepped before me I gasped, momentarily panicked, and vainly tried to pull away. He held me easily enough by my bound wrists, watching me struggle for control. Torch in hand, the Ettin wasted time checking the cords and I knew he was trying to gauge my response. I gradually slowed my breathing, fighting to calm my nerves. Finally he addressed the issue head-on.

"Sons of Adam do not marry their kin?"

"Not on purpose," I replied, "and never close kin."

"Sadly, my people have little else," he said in quiet tones. "Perhaps that's part of why your queen commanded such sway over us - she was fresh and strong and beautiful and many Ettin men, my father in his younger days among them, desired her."

"She may have been all those things save my queen, but she was also cruel and a tyrant with unnatural tastes."

"I suppose _you_ would know," he implied with a smirk that made me grateful it was I he spoke to and not Edmund. "Speaking of things unnatural, how did you come to be here?"

"Magic. And you?"

He snorted. "You just heard the sordid tale of my conception."

We stood regarding each other. He wore that same odd look as he had when we stood before the corpse of the drowned Giantess. I could tell there was something about me that he was trying to fathom, to understand and make his own. I stared into his dark eyes and strange features pushed so closely together on his big face and did my very best to give him nothing at all.

"Magic drew you here from your home. We've such legends amongst my people. It seems something about Adam's children appeals to this world." He gazed at me a moment longer before turning about and walking, forcing me to stumble alongside him through the stones littering the uneven floor of the cavern, carrying me further away from my home. I very much wished Valerlan would shut up and let me try to think. Storr's words, spoken in innocense and ignorance as they were, had given me a great deal to consider. Apparently the same was true of the crown prince, for he asked, "Did Jadis bring you here?"

"No. Aslan did."

"She said the Great Cat was dead."

"She lied."

"About many things, it seems. She captured you?"

I hesitated. I had said I would not lie, but that did not necessarily mean I would tell the truth. I remembered being exasperated time and again with Edmund when he would worm his way out of things by evasion, a trait he had picked up in that terrible school he had attended. Despite the opinion of my rhetoric teacher, I never would have thought skirting the truth was a useful talent, but I was suddenly grateful for Edmund's not-so-sterling example. As with the Host of the Air, I had something Valerlan didn't: a sneaky little brother. They were surprisingly useful at times like this.

I tugged on the tether just enough to let Valerlan I was there. "Something I seem to excel at."

He caught my meaning and grunted, amused at my frustration and satisfied with the answer. "Why did you rebel?"

Was he making grand assumptions as he went or did he know better and was trying to capture me with my own words? Did he really believe I had been designated the heir of Jadis' kingdom? I was inclined to believe the latter. Right now I fit the rumors that had somehow trickled north to Ettinsmoor, a happy coincidence he was inclined to believe because he wanted to. Did he know about Susan and Edmund and Lucy? I dared not confess to anything.

"Wouldn't you, given the chance?"

He frowned, his close-set eyes narrowing. "That would be betrayal."

"Of whom?"

He stared at me in astonishment.

"What were you doing in Narnia?" I pressed.

"I was sent by my father to see if the rumors were true and if Jadis intended to break her word to my people."

"Rumors of an heir?"

"Yes. And rumor served for once, for here you stand, little king."

"What word? You spoke of promises before. What did she promise you?"

"Nothing less than Narnia and all its bounty if my people would serve her cause."

"To live?"

"To rule."

I stared at him. He didn't know. He truly didn't realize she had been immortal.

"And . . . my existence disposed you?"

"Me or my children or grandchildren. At the last possible moment she produced a Son of Adam, the only beings worthy of taking the throne in accordance with the prophecy she was so fond of dangling before us. Little did she know my father planned far afield."

"He expected treachery?"

From the rear Storr snorted and Valerlan smirked as if at a private joke. "He _always_ expects treachery."

"Where are you taking me?"

"First to Loy, then to Keern, and then to my father's hall to the northwest."

"_Why?"_ I pressed.

He gave me a pitying, superior smile. "Because my father ordered it and I am an obedient son."

Which was no answer at all.


	12. The Unwelcome Fellow Traveler

**Chapter Twelve: The Unwelcome Fellow Traveler**

_'Then he waded the dangerous reek and went  
under arms to his lord . . .'_

_Beowulf, lines 2261-2262_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"King Edmund?"

I turned and faced Flinder, pushing Pandicat's ringed tail out of my face. The Lemur was nestled around my neck like a fur collar and held in place by my cloak. She was a little heavy but the warmth was worth the weight, plus it allowed her nap so she could keep watch when we stopped to sleep. At my feet stood the Bobcat scout, barely visible in the light of the few lanterns we had lit. I crouched down.

"Yes, Flinder?"

A faint growl preceded his news. "We're being followed."

Pauton and Kanell both heard and turned. Pandicat lifted her head but said nothing. I glanced up at the Centaur captain, then asked of Flinder,

"One creature or many?"

"One, sire."

"Is it walking?"

I didn't have to look to know my question confused my companions, but I didn't bother to explain myself. Being a king had some benefits.

"Walking, yes, Sire," said the Bobcat, a trifle surprised at the line of inquiry. "It's drawing closer and it's not an Ettin."

I frowned, imitating the expressions worn by the soldiers around me.

"Can we catch it?"

Pauton shrugged. "We have to do something."

"Stand off to the sides," Kanell ordered quietly, giving me a little nudge towards the cover of a row of stalagmites. "Troop, take cover. Pauton, leave a lamp uncovered in the path. We'll let it get past us and close in behind."

We quickly obeyed. The path of late had been blessedly easy with relatively level chambers opening one after the other. The ground was thickly strewn with rubble, which was hard on our legs (and harder for those of us with more legs). Many a curse was muffled as we picked out way through and over and around, but it had been hours since we actually had to break out the ropes and help haul a Centaur up a sheer rise. Even in the faint light nothing escaped Barin and Brant and more than once they found evidence of the Ettins' passing - rocks pushed aside or broken formations (which to them was sinful) and on one occasion traces of a fire.

The chamber where we stood now was filled with reddish-brown formations that put me in mind of Cair Paravel's great hall and all its graceful and mighty pillars. I felt a strong arm tug me back behind the uneven row of stalagmites Kanell had indicated and I knew it was Athan. With a small trilling sound, Pandicat climbed down my arm and peeked around the stone barrier with me. I slid the pack off my back before I quietly, carefully drew Peter's sword, the weight of the blade comforting in my hand. I was aware of Athan right beside me, though with his coal-black fur I couldn't see him in the shadows. I knew he was there to protect me in case whatever it was behind us turned out to be a real threat. I had never seen the Gorilla fight but I had seen his fangs and his remarkable strength; I knew he was not one to be trifled with.

Minutes passed, though it felt closer to an eternity. I could hear the air move, the distant drip-drip-drip of water, the faint rustle of Athan's fur as he shifted his stance. I knew my companions heard it before me - a faint scratching of nails on stone as something picked a careful path behind us, distinct even though the caverns distorted every noise. I could hear a snuffling sound as the creature checked for scent, then a tiny exclamation of, "Ah!" that echoed briefly as our pursuer spotted the lantern. I tensed, gripping Rhindon's hilt tighter still as our uninvited companion broke into a trot.

I sensed rather than saw Flinder pounce. There came a sudden growl and a commotion of scraping and struggling. A panicked, high-pitched voice rang through the caverns.

"Oh, no! No! Help! Help!"

We rushed out of our hiding spots and Gicelus came running up with the open lantern, illuminating the scene. There was a streak of red hanging limply from Flinder's powerful jaws. I lowered Rhindon, recognizing that color in the faint light as I groaned,

"Peterkins."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He was caked with dirt, hungry, tired, terrified, happy not to be alone any more, and very aware that he was in a world of trouble. Flinder had been rewarded with a mouthful of mud and hair and grit and he discreetly tried to spit out the taste of Fox. Peterkins sat quietly between Shikov and Pandicat, chewing on some dried meat and trying to avoid my glare.

There was nothing else for it. We stopped for an unplanned rest while we tried to figure out what Peterkins was about and I tried to get my temper under control.

I was beyond furious that he had disobeyed my direct order to remain with the Beavers and it took all my self-control not to explode. He had promised! Spoilt, indulged child that he was, what would it take for him to get it through his thick skull that we were chasing after the very Giants he had seen kill Jett and three soldiers? This wasn't some grand adventure from the tales the Dryads told him and his sisters. People had died, more were likely to die before it was over, and we were in pursuit of creatures that were as awful as they were cruel.

Kanell and Xati kept me well away from him until I calmed down. Knowing that wouldn't happen anytime soon, Xati finally went over and I could hear her speaking to the young Fox. I paced back and forth across a smooth patch of stone, filled to overflowing with nervous energy. Rest was impossible for me right now thanks to the kit.

I had to give him credit, though, for being able to follow and find us. It was no mean feat finding a way with lanterns and torches and skilled climbers. To do so by scent alone was quite an accomplishment, especially for an Animal so small and inexperienced, and he was lucky he hadn't been killed at every other step of the way. Still, it was inexcusable that he had defied his king and unless it was a matter of life or death that brought him here - or even if it was - he was in for more trouble than he ever knew existed.

"Will you hear him out?" asked Kanell in quiet tones.

I turned, pacing away from the Centaur. "Of course I will, Captain!" I growled, confronting him. "And if choose to have yon kit punished for disobeying my express command to remain at Beaversdam will you support me?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation or emotion.

Resuming my pacing, I shook my head and muttered, "It won't come to that. Trust me."

Kanell smiled the least bit. He knew me too well. Peterkins would be punished, that was a certainty, but I would never allow a hair of him to be harmed. I loved him and his father too well to ever allow anything to befall the little Fox, much as I wanted to throttle him at the moment. The pleasure of meting out punishment would fall to Sir Giles himself and - Aslan help that foolish child! - Lady Marion.

Xati picked her way over as quietly as her iron-shod hooves would allow. She whispered something to Kanell and he motioned for her to wait. I was still too angry to listen to reason but unfortunately time was not a thing I could waste. Shoving aside my reaction to the situation, I stopped pacing.

"Let's hear him," I snapped. I caught the look in the Centaur's dark face and crossly promised, "I _will_ listen, Kanell."

One of the Satyrs had spruced him up and brushed his fur so he didn't look quite so disreputable. Master Peter Fox nonetheless looked as if he was heading for his own execution as he responded to Xati's call to join us and well he should. His dark eyes were woeful as he dared glance up at me and Kanell, and upon seeing the stormy look on my face he dropped his head.

"What have you to say for yourself?" demanded Kanell.

"I . . . I'm sorry," he whispered, "but I remembered something . . . I forgot to tell you after you left, King Edmund. Something the bad Giants said."

"Who knows you're here, Peter?" I demanded.

"Um . . ." His tail drooped, which was answer enough. "Nobody."

"So Mrs. Beaver, right now, is frantic with worry and her husband is probably scouring the area around Beaverdam looking for you. After I asked her to watch over you and for you to protect her."

He sank down onto the stone, realizing what he had done.

"Why didn't you just tell Mrs. Beaver what you remembered?"

"I thought of it that night when she was asleep and . . . I couldn't think about anything but telling you. I made it to the castle in the morning and I snuck past the guards." He swallowed nervously. "I . . . I picked up your scent and the bad Giants and followed it. There was a Giant that was dead. It was grufull on my nose and I thought I'd lost you until I found the scent again . . . and I was too afraid to go back that way again. Then I just . . . followed my nose until that Cat grabbed me."

I heaved a weary sigh. His intentions were the best. I knew that full well. "You should have told the soldiers at the Witch's castle. Phillip would have gotten word to me. Do you think I would embark on a mission like this and not have a means of getting word from the people I've left behind?" I sighed again, voicing my real fears as I asked, "What if you had slipped and fallen into the underground river and we never found you? What then, Master Fox?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, sounding close to tears.

"I know you are. You have done your kings very good service, and I'm sure your news is very important. I understand that you were so eager to reach me. You're afraid for my brother and so am I. But Peter! By not listening to me you have made me very angry and you have worried a good lady. Remember this: if you ever disobey a direct command again it will be for the last time. Defy me a second time and I will not entrust you to do anything else in my service. Do you understand me?"

He nodded and I frowned.

"Answer your king, Master Fox," Kanell said softly, reading my expression easily enough.

Peterkins sniffed, then managed to say, "Yes, King Edmund. I understand."

"Good. Now tell me, what did the Giant say?"

We waited expectantly. When he realized his execution would not be our next course of action, Peterkins took a deep breath and said, "The Ettin leader stopped the one that killed Ahmen from killing King Peter. He said that King Peter must be the blood hare and that she made a . . . a . . . sesessor?" He ended in a question, uncertain of the word and glancing between me and the Centaur officers.

"Successor?" I pressed, fairly sure he meant blood heir, not hare.

He concentrated, trying out the word, and slowly he nodded. "I think that was it. Then he said he owed King Peter something and that's when he hit him and I ran away."

I stared at the Fox as I took in his words. A blood heir. I looked to Kanell and Xati to see if they understood as deeply as I did. Both Centaurs were thoughtful, but they did not know so much as to be able to share my feelings of dismay and bewilderment. A strange heaviness seemed to settle upon me and my mind flashed back to a snowy day, the sound of sleigh bells and the feel of soft, white fur against my cheek, honeyed words whispered in my ear. "She said she had no children of her own," I murmured, momentarily lost in the memory. "She said . . . she would make me a prince . . ."

"Who?" piped up Peterkins, completely forgetting that he was in disgrace. "King Edmund, who said . . . oh."

I glared down at him so fiercely he crouched low, his ears flattened as he recalled it was not his place to question a king. Xati made a warning noise deep in her throat for the Fox to shut up and for once he listened.

"Go with Xati, Peter," I snapped. "Do whatever she says. Get some rest."

"Majesty?" asked Kanell as the Centaur mare led Peterkins away. "He needed to see the consequences of his actions. He'll be fine after a good sleep."

I nodded, a little impatient and not very concerned about the bruised ego of young Master Peter. My voice was harsher than I meant as I said, "I need to think, Captain."

Kanell nodded his understanding and silently withdrew, leaving me alone in the perpetual night with my dark mood and darker thoughts.


	13. The Nightmare of History

**Chapter Thirteen: The Nightmare of History**

_'. . . They are fatherless creatures,  
and their whole ancestry is hidden in a past  
of demons and ghosts. They dwell apart  
among wolves on the hills, on windswept crags  
and treacherous keshes . . .'_

_Beowulf, lines 1355-1359_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Have you any gods in Narnia, little king?"

"We have Aslan. I don't know if he is a god, but his very nature seems divine."

"Aslan," the Ettin echoed with a sneer. "He appears in our legends, too. The Beast who called the world into being. As if we asked to be. If I believed in any gods, I'd call upon them cast him into the deepest pit in Hell." Valerlan turned that sneer in my direction. "He created a world and cast loose its citizens without guidance or regard. And like a good little subject, do you bow and scrape and fear your god?"

"I bow to him and him alone," said I, offended by his blasphemy against one I held dear. "But I do not scrape and I do not fear him. Aslan is not worshiped in Narnia in any other way than being revered and loved and honored."

"A living god," murmured the Ettin prince. His voice betrayed the extent of his contempt. "We had our goddess: Jadis. She lived among us for a time and she challenged the might of the ancient deities, casting down the figures carved of wood and stone. My father said his people waited for her to be struck by the powers of the earth and sky, but no divine wrath was loosed upon her. She sowed doubt and showed us our gods were empty, soulless things." He snorted. "And she was right, for we shifted our devotion to her and she proved just as empty and soulless as the statues we held in such mindless awe."

I stared at him, this thinking brute, wondering what it would be like to have illusions and dreams stripped away one by one until the naked, ugly truth was staring back at me from the looking glass. Somehow, though, I felt my truth was not nearly as ugly as his.

We had finally stopped for food and rest. I was thoroughly worn out, my head and shoulders aching from the strain of having my wrists constantly bound and the weight of the leather rope and lead. Right now an intellectual or moral debate was not my choice of a pastime, but I had little say in the matter. Valerlan had been rather closed-mouth all day, though he had given Hatta a sound beating for tripping me and making me fall as we were laboring up a steep slope. I had cut my elbow and bled through the fabric of my tunic, forcing us to stop. The Ettin notion of medicine was as primitive as I expected: Haigha slapped a brown, pasty concoction on the cut that smelled like resin, wrapped my elbow in a dirty bandage, and declared me as good as new. I was bothered by the looks Hatta cast me, especially when my bloodied arm was bared and he was made to hold the torch for Haigha to see as he ministered to me. The gleam in his eye had been . . . hungry. I expected yet more trouble out of him though I was helpless before his scheming.

"She poisoned our faith even as she poisoned our blood and my kin were desperate enough for leadership and salvation that they helped her to do it. A prophesy of Narnia she dangled before the greedy minds of my forefathers. A Son of Adam would come and rule Narnia. Even frozen the land was bountiful compared to Ettinsmoor."

I was silent. I didn't want to hear this. I truthfully didn't care in the least, but he had his captive audience and I believed that this was the first time in a long time he was able to address an intellectual peer. Valerlan, in his boundless bitterness and anger and self pity, saw himself as a victim of fate when to my mind the real victims had their bones scattered on the floor of the courtyard of the Witch's castle.

"Prophesy," he spat. "The curse of my race is more like it! Do you know what she bade my people do? No, of course not. You sit there all golden and pure and blessed as I drag you straight into the hell that is my existence and still I cannot touch you. Do you know what I hate most about you, little king?"

He clearly wanted an answer, wanted something he could fling back at me. Very well. I met his eye steadily. "It's the fact either that I exist or that you want to be me."

There was a pause and then he laughed. It was a hollow sound and devoid of mirth. "Oh, you are a self-centered little bastard, aren't you?" He leaned closer, close enough so I could see his ragged hair was coarse and heavy like a Horse's tail and his small, deep-set eyes glittered with malice and envy. "I don't want to be you. I want to be me AS you. I want to be what you are: whole and perfect and accepted by your own people. Look at this misshapen body, this mind captured in such a hideous form! What fool would wish for such an existence? No. What I hate most about you is that you not only have hope, but you ARE hope. Even my own people look upon you and feel their hopes for the future rise. Your very existence inspires, whereas I have to fight and cajole and sometimes even threaten to move my race."

I just sat on my seat of stone and looked at him, steeling my face to be calm. Even so, I did nothing more than enfuriate him further.

"Do you see? Even upon me this power of yours works. I look upon you and I see what CAN be and I wish to act, even if that act is to kill you. But even if I did kill you, here, now, one blow from my club, I still wouldn't kill what you _are_."

That wasn't very comforting. I hoped he wouldn't try to test out that theory. With a growl like a Wolf, Valerlan drew back. I couldn't tell if he was angry at me or himself. Both of us, I supposed. The best I could do was lead him back to his angry rant.

"So what did Jadis bid your people do that so doomed you, Prince Valerlan?"

He snorted at the use of his title. I thought it odd that he so wanted to be a king yet he looked down upon the title of prince.

"She told us of a prophesy. Even though she was of our kind and the king and his lords greatly desired her and her power, we might not have listened to her words if rumors of the prophesy had not reached our ears from independent sources. It spoke of children of Adam enthroned in Narnia, ruling the Land of Talking Beasts." He made an offhand gesture towards me, believing me the fulfillment of Jadis' lies, then he looked at me askance, seemingly coming to a decision. I realized he was trusting me with something, sensing, perhaps that for all I was his captive and his chief rival, I was trustworthy.

"Doubtless you do not know the history of my people. It may surprise you to learn that the Ettins are descended from the first king of Narnia. It does surprise you, I can tell. King Frank's grandson Prince Etainn was captured by the Northern Giants almost a century after the land was called into being. The daughter of the Giant king became infatuated with him and bore a child by him, a daughter, Ettain. Etainn abandoned her soon after, escaping back to Narnia and leaving the princess in disgrace. Her daughter was married off to the lowest of the low, a mere swineherd. Strangely, though, Ettain thrived and was happy with her lowly mate, while her children were far more intelligent and clever than anything her cousins produced.

"I'm sure you can guess where this tale goes. After a generation or two the Ettins broke off and established their own kingdom, which quickly became the envy of our barbaric cousins. The human blood, the blood of Adam, made us so much more. But that blood has thinned now. The mark of your kind fades. We might have been content to continue on, but then Jadis . . ."

There was a heavy feeling in my stomach and I feared I really DID know where this tale was going. Yet another law of Aslan and Nature had been cast aside, it seemed. I desperately wished he would stop talking. My head ached, my elbow was throbbing, The stuff Haigha had used to treat the cut smelled horrid, and the dinner of bread and cheese I had eaten was not sitting well in my stomach.

"She touted what a shame it would be for the humanity in the Ettins to be lost, for we were the only heirs of King Frank left in the world. Oh, she was cunning! They listened, my foolish forefathers, and at her urging they tried to concentrate the human blood in our royal house. Fathers lay with daughters. Brothers lay with sisters. Mothers seduced their own sons. Incest became an accepted practice. Children were born and the mothers could not even name the fathers, save that they were of the royal family. Within three generations they were producing extremes: mindless wretches good only for drooling and fornicating and . . . children like me, who saw and understood what a terrible thing Jadis had initiated."

I suddenly found myself wondering how old was Valerlan. It's very difficult to tell with many of the Races in Narnia because many of them are long-lived, and often the bigger the being, the longer they lived and the slower they reproduced. That didn't seem to be the case here, though.

"So why didn't those who understood put an end to it?" I kept my voice even, trying not to betray my revulsion. What would it be like to carry so twisted a burden?

"Because we are too few and until me none have been in a position to inherit the crown. Those in command have little desire to stem their perverse lusts even though every child born brings us closer to destruction. So many children born of children. Our land cannot support so many. I know of only a handful of my kind today that could carry on such a conversation as we do now."

Conversation? It was more like a lecture. Intelligent he might be, but there was nothing tempering that intelligence with sympathy or kindness, no experience beyond the brutalities of his world. He possessed no notion of respect for any life outside of his own kind. It was a mistake, though I doubted he would ever see it as such.

"When I am king, though, things will change." He glanced at me, perhaps a little ashamed or uncomfortable to reveal so much of his people's shortcomings to someone he envied. Something about my expression displeased him and his eyes narrowed. "What?" he demanded.

"For what do you need me, then?" I asked quietly, determined to get to the truth.

"I don't," he returned. "But I have you now and I see what you are and so I will make you work for me. You are worth a great deal, little king."

I found myself glaring. "You could have _asked_. We would have given."

"That is not our way. Besides, I sincerely doubt you would have given what I would have asked for."

"This from a man that just said he wanted to change things for his people? How very convenient for the moment." I tugged at the rope binding my hands. "What do you intend to change if not the ways and the attitudes that are slowly killing them? So instead of seeking a new path to benefit the Ettins, you allowed your people to lash out and murder my cousins. Then you committed the greatest sin imaginable." I shook my head, remembering my guards and the coal-black mare that had served me so well. "You speak of the future, Valerlan, but for all you have done and allowed to happen, you have none. None at all. I have not forgotten, nor will I ever forget, what you and yours did. Your actions have robbed the Ettins of the hope you seek." I looked away from him. He was a hypocrite and he disgusted me.

He laughed, startling me. "I'm bringing them hope. I'm bringing you to my father."

That again. "And what good will that do him or you?"

"Me? Very little. But it's his hope to regain the greatness we one enjoyed."

I stared, a horrid thought forming in my mind. I had hoped and prayed Storr's ranting about Deama their sister had been just that: ranting. Sweet Lion, no . . .

"Etainn was blond, they say," Valerlan smirked, enjoying my reaction. For all his pretense at civility, he relished having the upper hand. "Even now, very rarely, hair such as yours appears."

Shaking my head, I was so stunned at the notion of being expected to father a new race of Ettins that I almost laughed. "Oh, no! I will not be forced into such a union, Valerlan!"

"So said Etainn, King Peter, and yet here I stand, his direct heir."

"Narnia would never tolerate such an affront."

He shrugged. "You're here now and dear Narnia seems to be tolerating it. There's more than one way to the throne, Son of Man. We've waited this long. We can wait a bit longer."

"You have no idea of what you call down upon your kind, crown prince. I am not the answer to your dilemma. I am the source of your greatest nightmare imaginable," I said, thinking of Edmund.

"The nightmare, King Peter, is yours," Valerlan replied with a sneer.

Neither of us knew how right he was.


	14. Blood Heir

**Chapter Fourteen: Blood Heir**

_**Warning!**_ There are some **very** adult themes addressed in this chapter. While there's nothing graphic, just be aware that Edmund comes to some realizations of exactly what happened to him when he was Jadis' prisoner and it wasn't nice. This is something I've been hinting at throughout my stories and I'm sure many of you have already figured out what happened, but please, just be warned. I also ask that you keep in mind that I'm telling, not showing, what happened. My thanks to all my beta readers who gave me so much help and reassurance throughout this chapter and, indeed, this whole story.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'. . . Their mighty prince,  
the storied leader, sat stricken and helpless,  
humiliated by the loss of his guard,  
bewildered and stunned, staring aghast  
at the demon's trail, in deep distress.  
He was numb with grief, but got no respite . . .'_

- _Beowulf_, lines 129-134

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I was too cross to trust myself not to shout and then stuff Peterkins in a saddlebag for the duration of our mission. I heard his faint giggle as something one of the Dwarfs said tickled his fancy and with a quiet growl I turned and strode away to the far side of the fire, standing just at the edge of the circle of light while I silently fumed. Not even Peter would approach me when I was this angry and the members of my party wisely kept well away for a little while. Bowing my head and closing my eyes, I rested my hands on the two swords hanging from my belt, gripping them tightly as I breathed deeply. It was more dignified than screaming at the top of my lungs if not nearly as satisfying.

How dare Peterkins disobey a direct order? I didn't care that he was a child. We had enough to worry about with Peter in Ettin hands than to look after the little Fox. I was finding it hard to stay mad, though, for his intentions were noble. He had risked all and braved a dangerous path to bring us the information he remembered - if indeed he'd remembered it at all and hadn't held it back as an excuse to follow us. I considered. No, Peterkins wasn't clever enough to withhold anything and even if he did his father Sir Giles would have even less mercy on him than his mother for such misconduct, and I knew full well that for defying my orders Lady Marion would have no mercy whatsoever.

A blood heir. What was the significance of this news? It seemed to me I should understand it better than I did, rather like watching the sun dogs fade from the sky . . . oh, however long ago it was. A day or more. The words were important but I didn't know why. I felt I should know more, seeing as how I was the one they were after, the one Jadis had seen fit to mark . . .

I looked up as Kanell drew close, stepping slowly to minimize the sound his horseshoes made on the stone.

"Majesty? May I disturb your peace?"

"Aye, Captain," said I, trying not to smirk or scowl at his tact. He would never have bothered me with something trivial. "Of course. What is it?"

"What Peterkins said about the Ettin's words and _making_ an heir. . . I am reminded of something I heard long ago from Shonn, a member of Parliament."

"I know Shonn," I replied, remembering the graceful Barn Owl from when I had opened Parliament this past month of Frostmoon. "She's very keen on history."

"Indeed, King Edmund, and I have studied it extensively as well. She and I have carried on many discussions and debates over the years. She once told me an ancient tale she had read from the days just after Narnia's creation, the story of one of King Frank's grandsons, Etainn."

I frowned at the name. The similarity it bore to the brutes we pursued was too close to be coincidence.

He nodded at my reaction. "Shonn said during that period in Nanria most of the history was recorded in the form of poems and lays. The one in question is called _The Rape of Etainn_. In essence, Sire, Prince Etainn was captured by the Northern Giants, carried off by force, and held prisoner in their king's court. He was eventually made to become the very unwilling father of a daughter that was named Ettain. The prince soon escaped back to Narnia and the child became the mother of a new race of Giants."

"Giants that were partially human," I murmured. I was not certain what to make of this information and my mind was awhirl. I swallowed, feeling my heart race.

"Hence their smaller size and sharper minds. But one of the Ettins that seized your brother spoke of a blood heir."

"Frank's? Could they see themselves as his heirs?"

"That may be, but according to Master Fox the Ettin had said _she_ made a blood heir that was her successor."

"Oh, Aslan," I groaned as the truth hit me with all the force of a blow. I raised a hand to my head. "They think Peter is me. I'm the only one they could possibly mean, Kanell! I'm the only one with Jadis' blood in my veins. But what could they want with . . . oh."

The story of Etainn caught up with me and with a little gasp I realized what the Centaur was tactfully implying. I stood there open-mouthed and incapable of speech for a minute or more. Suddenly the cavern was as cold as ice, as cold as the dungeon where I had been held when I was Jadis' prisoner, as burning cold as her touch. I squeezed my eyes closed, and in my mind's eye I saw not darkness but the eerie, sickly blue-green glow behind the walls of her private chamber.

_The Rape of Etainn._

_The Rape_

_Rape_

I froze in place, not even sure if I was breathing. I had never before had a word for what Jadis had done to me. Kanell in all his subtlety had implied more than a violent abduction of King Frank's grandson. I had never thought it could apply to my gender that way. And now . . .

If the Centaur had struck me with all his daunting strength I could not have been more stunned. For one long, hideous moment all my emotions were laid bare. I took one heavy step back, barely recovering in time to keep from falling when my knees buckled. My heart was hammering in my chest but there was no way to escape a memory. I looked but saw nothing - not Kanell, not the cavern, not the shadows. I shuddered as a chill crept down my spine but it was not as cold as the memory of Jadis' hands upon me, probing and cruel. I could feel her inhuman strength, her weight pinning me to the ice. Kisses devoid of warmth. Depraved, invasive caresses. Mocking laughter as my innocense was stripped away. Pain. Tears. Guilt. Violation.

Violations.

_You did say you wanted to be with me, Edmund._

I put my hands to my ears, vainly trying to block out her voice in my head. So much I knew was wrong but never really understood. She had twisted my words, used my ignorance against me, blamed me for her own perverse impulses.

_Oh, Aslan, I was . . ._

I shut the thought off, unwilling to complete it and trying to close myself to the Lion. He could hear my prayers and thoughts when I reached out to him. I didn't want him to hear that. I didn't want anyone to know . . .

_Peter knows._

Peter knew all along. Well before I did. He had figured it out from the start and had kept his council, waiting for me to speak.

_He knew. He knows._

_And he still loves me._

That truth struck me even harder than the realization of what Jadis had done to me.

Kanell reached for me as I gasped and staggered another step, a tiny sound escaping my throat. I stared up at the huge Centaur, words failing me for one of the few times in my life.

"Majesty?" he whispered, concern for me evident in his dark face. I must have looked pale enough to faint, and at the moment that was a very appealing response. Did the captain know? Had he, like Peter, figured out what she had done to me? Did anyone else look upon me with pity or think I had brought such humilation upon myself?

I shook my head, raising my hand for quiet as I gathered my thoughts and bearings once again, letting Kanell support me. A strange weakness seemed to take me, like the aftermath of battle, at once sickening and fulfilling. I was emotionally drained, as if I were a vessel and all my feelings had been poured out in a long stream, leaving me ready to be refilled.

Peter knew. And he loved me. He felt no shame and leveled no blame at me. What Jadis had done made no difference to him. Aslan knew as well. It made no difference to either of them. It was a relief, a release, to finally comprehend. I was not alone, had never been alone, and now I saw that.

Jadis had no power over Narnia and _I_ was Narnia.

I swallowed, panting slightly in the cold air, glad for Kanell's silent presence as I plowed through this mess of information and feeling and revelations. A thought struck me, grounding me once again: _The next time the sun goes a'hunting, Edmund, let someone else see the dogs first!_

If anyone else knew, so be it. I was not responsible for what had been done to me. Peter had set the example before and people had followed. So long as I had his support there was no storm I could not weather. I was not over this. Far from it, and this was not the time or place I would have chosen to come to this new, deeper understanding of what had been perpetrated against me, against Narnia and Aslan and my family. Having knowledge of a thing does not necessarily mean you understand it or know how to apply that knowledge, but I felt better for being able to classify Jadis' act as one of violence and domination as befitted her personality. I remembered sitting at her feet in her sleigh, humiliated and confused and sick at heart as the icy winds whipped me. The wind wasn't as painful as her touch and far more pleasant to endure. There was a hard, smug, selfish triumph about her face and eyes and she ignored me and my suffering. She had been pleased with herself for what she had done. I might have been a horrible little beast in my day, but not even I had deserved to be so shamelessly abused. Not for the first time, I was glad she was dead.

Drawing a deep breath, I held the grips of the two swords beneath my hands, Shafelm and Rhindon. I was reassured by their weight and the knowledge that I could defend myself now. I was not a helpless, frightened child. Something new was growing in my breast: cold, unrelenting resolve.

The Ettins had wanted me, most likely because I was the one with Jadis' blood polluting my veins. It made sense. Given a chance for the White Witch's power and human blood all at once, I was the logical one to seize. Did they know of anyone else to seize, really? Did they even know there were four of us?

And now they had my brother. The Ettins had wanted me, but they had taken Peter.

Oh, no. Not Peter. They would not do to him what Jadis had done to me. I would not allow it. By the Lion, I would not permit those monsters to sully my king. Peter would not be made to feel the disgrace and confusion and sense of unworthiness that I had endured. That I still endured. Not while I lived. He was the last person in the world that should ever live with such shame.

As I had done so often in the past, I steeled myself against my own reactions, locking them deeply within my heart, adding another wall to the fortress I had constructed around the bitterness and hurt I had learned over the years. I would face my darker emotions later. I was quite adept at doing this, perhaps too adept, but rescuing Peter was more important than wrestling with the demons that haunted me. Indeed, it was more urgent than ever that we find and free him, now that I had a greater notion of their intent. When the time came Peter and no other would be able to breach these walls I had built.

And by Aslan, I would let him.

I turned to Kanell. I didn't know how much he knew or guessed as he watched me struggle with this revelation but as I looked up at him I realized the past made no difference to him or how he saw me, just as with Peter.

"Rouse the troop, Captain." My voice was as hoarse as if I had been screaming. "We're moving out."


	15. Midnight Snack

**Chapter Fifteen: Midnight Snack**

My thanks once again to the1hobbit for the two wonderful drawings she did for chapter fourteen of this story. If you haven't seen her work, the link to her site is on my profile. Her work is fun and funny and in the case of _Thole_, very moving.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'My flesh was not for feasting on,  
there would be no monsters gnawing and gloating  
over their banquet . . .'_

- _Beowulf_, lines 562-564

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Another endless day of trudging though the darkness had ended. An eternity after setting out, we stopped. It was impossible to know how much time had passed since I had last seen sunlight at Lake Asher, but my aching legs told me I had walked on stone for far too long, constantly yanked along by the tether secured to the crown prince's belt. How many miles had passed under these sore feet? As Haigha built a small fire for light and heat, Valerlan handed me more of the stale, tasteless flat bread from his pack and something thin and dried and suspect. I eyed the dark, leathery, salt-encrusted stuff warily and he snapped, "Beef! From my father's herd."

I ate what I could but odds were good my boots would have been tastier and easier to choke down. I was far more interested in sleep than food. I didn't care that my hands were still tied. I needed to rest but I dared not relax. I certainly didn't possess enough energy to give escape any thought. The Ettins were still talking and eating when I curled up on the ground with my head resting on Valerlan's discarded pack, my back to them all. I stared into the darkness, my thoughts flying to the Lion that loved me so.

_Aslan, watch over me, your servant. Keep me safe in your hold and let me endure this trial. There are monsters behind me and darkness before me. Don't let me become lost in this cold wilderness. Great Lion watch over my sleep and send me my brother. I know he'll come for me. Speed him on his way and guard his path that he may find me. Be with me always and stand between me and these my enemies. Oh, Aslan, why did this happen?_

There were tears on my lashes as I closed my eyes and the sound of idiot laughter in my ears as I finally drifted off.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I was snatched out of a restless sleep by a huge, calloused hand clamping over my face, grinding my head into the stone beneath me. I let out a startled scream but little sound escaped through the fleshy gag and what noise I did make was too muffled to be heard by Ettin ears. I tried to struggle as I was quickly dragged away from Valerlan's side. I had no love for the crown prince, but I knew full well he was my only protection right now and I would have done anything to remain with him.

My attempts at escape were useless. There was a faint muttering and by the dying embers of the fire I saw a flash of metal as my attacker cut the tether reaching from my bound hands to Valerlan's belt. I tried to twist away, tried to bite the hand covering my mouth, but all my attempts were hopeless. Strong arms lifted me and I was held crushing tight against a Giant's chest. I could feel the bone closures of a vest digging painfully into my back and I knew it was Hatta. I caught a glimpse of Valerlan's dark form as he slept on undisturbed and unaware. My kicks against the body behind me were ignored and I tried to scream as I was carried away from the encampment, into the darkness beyond.

My captor moved slowly, picking his way with care so as not to make any noise. I kept up my struggles out of sheer desperation. I was dead. There was nothing else for it, I was going to be killed and eaten, but I was certainly going to make my sacrifice as hard and painful on my attackers as I possibly could.

I was too busy trying to worm free of the hands pinning me to notice the distant light until I saw the leering faces of Storr and Haigha. A small fire burned before them where they crouched in a niche in the rock, their stupid eyes glittering in anticipation. I redoubled my efforts to get away, to call out, but I was hopelessly outmatched. Storr rose and made a grab for my legs. I managed to land a few good kicks before his hands held me immobile. Working swiftly, they forced a bundle of filthy cloth into my mouth and tied it so tightly I expected my jaw to break. My legs were securely bound and I was dropped to the ground by the fire as they held what for them was a whispered debate.

"Should we eat it or drink it?" wondered Haigha, prodding me with his foot.

Hatta, the most intelligent and vicious of the trio, said, "Valerlan said Human blood is what made our people so smart once, and that this one's blood mingled with ours will make us great again."

His words terrified me like nothing else could, and in more ways than Hatta knew.

_Oh, no. No! NO! Aslan, help me!_

I desperately fought, but Hatta just stepped on me, pinning me painfully to the rock with his massive foot. I could barely breathe.

"We drink."

"But I'm hungry," whined Haigha.

"You can eat him after," Hatta reasoned, grinding his foot into me. I screamed through the rag - furious, panicked, and hurting all at once. He laughed at my reaction, his hand going to the knife at his belt.

Storr shook his head uncertainly. "What about Valerlan?"

"We'll save him some," promised the ringleader.

"He said he wanted to bring this thing to my father."

"For exactly this reason, Storr."

"But . . . then more of us will be able to be great."

_Aslan, I don't want to die! Please let them listen to this dolt's logic!_

"But don't you want to be king some day, Storr?" wheedled Hatta, removing his foot from my back and flipping me over with one nudge. He gripped me by my hair, barely able to hold on to the short locks with his thick, clumsy fingers. I stared at the knife in his hand. It was as huge and wicked-looking as its owner. I struggled as best I could, but Haigha seized me and held me still.

"No," mumbled Storr. "Valerlan is to be king."

"And this creature's blood will make him great! Think of it, Storr! Your brother will restore the Ettins to our former glory!"

Storr considered and slowly nodded his oversized head as he came to terms with Hatta's plan. Gradually he became more enthusiastic about the idea and he smiled and giggled.

So much for that hope. Were any of these Giants _not_ insane?

"We're agreed. We'll drink the blood, then eat it. Never ate man-flesh before. I hope it's tastier than those goats."

I closed my eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. It was for my sake, not theirs, but I desperately wished I would simply black out.

_Great Lion, my life is in your paws. Deliver me from this plight or receive me in your country. Either way, Aslan, I am yours._

Is this what Edmund felt every night for more than four months? Sweet Lion, how had he survived? How was _I_ going to survive? _Would_ I survive? I didn't have a chance if Hatta actually got to use that knife and his smile told me my own end would be neither swift nor painless.

Still gripping my hair, I could sense Hatta as he drew closer and my terror was an absolute. To be murdered is one thing. To know you're about to be murdered and to be helpless to stop it is something even more horrible. The other Ettins laughed expectantly. They were so focused on me that they missed the one thing they feared the most right now: discovery.

_"HATTA!"_

The Ettin holding me was so completely startled by Valerlan's arrival that he screamed and dropped me. All three of the Palish Giants whirled just as their prince strode out of the darkness. His fury was unstoppable and he unleashed upon his subjects without mercy, beating and berating them all, laying into them with his club and chasing them away from me. Caught in the act, they tried to plead and beg their prince but he would hear none of it.

"Fools!" bellowed Valerlan, his wrath filling the cavern. He punctuated his sentences with kicks and blows to Hatta's body as the Ettin sprawled before him. "You greedy, selfish, half-witted fools! I'll kill the next one that touches my captive! Kill you, I say! Yes, I value him over any of you, even my own brother! I am the lord here! Nothing dies without my leave! Nothing! You have no concept of what this human is worth to our entire race!"

Blubbering, crushed, frightened out of their dim wits, Haigha, Hatta, and Storr blundered off into the darkness. I could hear them stumbling about, cursing and crying in hopeless confusion. I lay still, suddenly cold and trembling and feeling guilty for having doubted that Aslan would not be able to help me even here. Chest heaving, I tried to control my reaction to no avail. Too much had happened in just a few minutes' time on top of everything else I had endured. I was weeping and nauseated and astonished when the hands that freed me treated me gently.

I gasped for air as soon as the rag was removed from my mouth and I barely noticed that my hands as well as my feet were untied. I tried to stand and failed, dropping weakly to my hands and knees and coughing violently. I was shaking so hard I couldn't support myself and lowered myself down to my elbows, resting my head against the back of my hand. My skin was clammy and I felt flushed and chilled and faint all at once.

_Aslan, I'm sorry I doubted you. I was so afraid. I _am_ so afraid. I'm sorry. So sorry. Forgive me, Aslan, I know you would never abandon me. Be with me now and always. Help me. Please. Oh-_

Crouched on the ground, I vomited up the contents of my stomach. I crawled a few feet away from the mess because I knew I wouldn't be able to hold myself upright for very long in this condition. There was a noise of disgust - though not directed at me for once - and Valerlan reached over and lifted Hatta's knife, sliding it into his belt. I raised my head and in the dying embers of the fire I stared at my unexpected deliverer. If I had possessed the strength, I would have backed away from him. Valerlan seemed sympathetic to my reaction and fear. He watched me closely, his eyes lost in the darkness.

"They won't hurt you again," he stated.

I stared back at him, blinking at my tears and distress. How could he promise such a thing? As if he knew what I was thinking he said,

"Among my people, only the lord among them can order the death of any creature under his sway, even so far as beasts for eating. They know I will kill any one of them if they lay hands upon you again. Are you injured?"

The question seemed so commonplace, so normal, that I had to think it over. There was no additional physical damage done to me that I could detect, though my heart had yet to calm and I was still panting and weeping. I found my voice though, a deep, rasping, frightened sound I had to force past my lips.

_"What does it matter to you? What do you want from me?"_

I think there was actually pity in his eyes as he moved closer. I must have been a truly pathetic sight.

"Everything."

Shaking my head, I rasped, "Without Aslan's blessing, Valerlan, you can have _nothing_."

"Narnia's throne is my only goal."

Shaking my head at this foolish plan, I slowly replied, "By Aslan, you will never get it."

"There's more than one way to a throne, little king. Your blood will yet make us great."

I stared at him in speechless disbelief and confusion, knowing what he said mattered greatly but too spent to understand what wasn't being said. How had I gone from being a captive and a dainty snack to the Ettins' hope for the future? Did he actually think for a moment that I could be forced into his father's mad scheme for me to sire a new race of Ettins? By Aslan, by my brother, by all that I held dear, that day would never dawn.

It was fortunate that I hadn't stood up yet. That way I didn't have as far to fall as I passed out.


	16. Thole

**Chapter Sixteen: Thole**

_'. . . He knew what they had tholed,  
the long times and troubles they'd come through  
without a leader . . .'_

_Beowulf, lines 14-16_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I woke up to absolute blackness and a strange sense of warmth and coldness at once - the air was damp, the rock beneath me was cold, but I was covered snugly by something rough and itchy. For some reason the scratchy cloth made me think of Lucy as she complained about . . . bed sheets? It seemed a lifetime ago. Why would I think of that now? The memory wasn't entirely a happy one, but I knew it was far better than my present situation and I clung to it and the image of my sisters as I gradually became more aware.

I shifted. My hands were still untied. It was a relief to be able to move freely even though I dared not move very far. I could hear deep, slow breaths right behind me and further off, snoring. Where was I? I slowly sat up, careful to feel my way as I moved for fear of hitting my head in the darkness. An arm's length away on my right my hand came in contact with stone and to my left I felt hair as coarse as wire. I snatched my hand back, realizing I was between Valerlan and the wall. He was protecting me from the others.

Though I could see nothing I stared in the direction of the Ettin prince. I had a heavy, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and a sharp pain in my head - the aftermath of the terror I had felt earlier. My body was not yet over Hatta's assault; the memory of panic was still making itself felt. I was faintly dizzy as if fevered and my limbs felt heavy and clumsy. I think I was simply still frightened out of my wits regardless of the barrier formed by the sleeping Giant beside me. Valerlan had barely stopped them once. Were his threats enough to stop them again?

They would have murdered me. Cruel, crude, senseless creatures that they were, the Ettins would have happily killed and consumed me. Was that how Edmund felt when Jadis was sharpening the Stone Knife for his throat? How Aslan had felt on the Stone Table? I tried not to think about it, but the memories were too fresh and vivid for me to dismiss them. Oreius always said that I worried too much about things I couldn't change, but I think in this case he would excuse my dwelling on recent events provided it wasn't for too long.

Hatta had enjoyed being able to torture me. I knew he was sadistic but I sensed he would have made me suffer horribly as he killed me. He hated me not just because I was an inconvenience and not of his race but because Valerlan set such store by me. He was jealous that I was the fulfillment of his prince's dreams. I didn't believe that Hatta wanted his race preserved if it meant depending on me, and my own reluctance to be forced into the role of savior only added insult to indignation. There was no satisfying one such as him.

A hacking cough rose up in my chest and I tried to stifle the sound before my guardian roused. Everything hurt from my hair to my feet. I had tensed up so completely and struggled so hard that I felt as if I had pulled every muscle in my body. I groaned as the coughing fit eased, leaving me exhausted and dazed. Trying to ignore the smell of sweat and filth around me, I edged away until I could lean against the wall of stone. I leaned my head back and hissed at the contact. I remembered Hatta yanking out a goodly handful of my hair when Valerlan surprised him. It hadn't hurt then. Rubbing the offended spot, I recalled Oreius' typically pragmatic view on pain: _It lets you know you're alive. _General, I was very much alive.

"Aslan," I said to the darkness, "thank you for delivering me. Deliver me yet again, Great Lion."

Dare I try to escape? I doubted I could have stood long enough to walk ten feet. I was trembling where I sat. I sighed, looking to where I knew the heavens wheeled far above. Was it day? Night? I closed my eyes - useless trying to see in such utter blackness - and tried to remember blue. So strange to be in a world without color! How long had I been down here? What were Susan and Lucy doing right now? I had less trouble envisioning Edmund - I knew he would come for me and I knew the look in his eyes would be darker even than this starless night. The thought gave me immense comfort. He could arrive at any moment. Right that instant would have suited me very well, and whatever gods the Ettins held dear, may they help them against Justice enraged.

Before me the Ettin prince stirred and I knew he had roused, probably awakened by my coughs. When he spoke I wasn't startled, I was simply still frightened.

"Prayers in the night, little king? I thought you had no gods in Narnia."

"That doesn't mean we don't have faith," I replied to the faceless voice, "or that we don't pray."

"And you think the Cat hears you?"

"I know he does."

"Even here, in this pit?"

"It's at times like this that he hears me best of all."

He snorted and I could hear him moving carefully, sitting up and moving things about. Presently I heard the spark of a flint and several minutes later I could see the shadowy bulk of Valerlan against the faint light of a small fire. Beyond him, on the far side of the chamber, I spotted the hairy bulk of Storr and heard his snores. Of Hatta and Haigha I saw no sign. Valerlan stepped out of the way of the light and studied me intently. I met his eye, not caring how sickened or feeble I might appear.

"You're still afraid," he concluded, sounding very close to sorry for me.

"Wouldn't you be, Crown Prince?" I snapped. "I've been abducted, abused, my guard killed, and you've as good as promised that I'll be -" I broke off, unable to finish the complete the horrible thought of what lay in store for me at the hands of the Ettins if King Valaner's twisted plan was ever realized. I drew a deep breath. "Hatta tortured me with his conduct and he would have made me suffer long and hard ere he murdered me. Tell me you wouldn't be afraid."

"Probably," he agreed, looking smug. "Fortunate for you I woke when I did."

It was my turn to snort at him but I didn't have the energy. Instead I said, "Fortunate for me Aslan heard my prayers."

"You're short on gratitude," he said lightly, though I suspected he actually expected thanks.

"I'm long on gratitude for those that do me good service. But for you and yours I wouldn't be here right now and my guard would still be alive. Am I supposed to be glad for you saving your man from killing me when you yourself ordered my capture and expected me to eat the flesh of my cousin and subject?"

He arched an eyebrow at me, feigning amusement at my outburst but I think I cut him with my words. "You've proven you're willing to take a life in defense of your country. Aren't you equally willing to lay down your life?"

When I didn't answer immediately he became impatient and demanded,

"How now, King Peter, the question likes you not?"

I stirred. "I just find it an interesting proposal for a man like you to ask of a boy of fifteen years."

"Not a man to a boy, but one king to another."

I looked at him coolly, resting my head against the rock. That I was a king I had no doubt - I was all that Aslan wanted and needed and made me to be and more. Valerlan, however . . .

"Were you truly a king you would not need to pose such a question," I said, bringing to bear all the lessons of Mathe, my rhetoric teacher. I had been taught by an expert how to debate effectivley. I suspected my opponant just knew how to argue. Well, if Valerlan wanted a king he'd get one, but I didn't think he'd enjoy it for a moment. I focused all my energy on the question he had seen fit to raise, forcing myself to concentrate, anger and indignation at the situation slowly burning in my breast. It was an unfortunate truth that when I didn't feel well I grew snappish and short-tempered. "But to answer your first, I would not have led my army into battle against Jadis if I wasn't willing to lay down my life for what I love. I don't think you're asking me as much as yourself. Do you value anything so much as to risk your life for it?"

He slowly sat down, staring at me across the fire. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"That's no answer. There's nothing glorious in murder. Attacking a small, lightly-armed party in the heart of their own country is hardly risking your life, is it? Capturing a boy a fraction of your size and holding him is not bravery, nor is debasing and mocking him. Are these the acts of a king? You could just have easily remained hidden in the castle and returned to Ettinsmoor. We would have been none the wiser and you would not have invited our wrath."

Or Edmund's.

He stared at me, resentment in his muddy brown eyes. "And is skulking away in the night like a coward the act of a king? You think I have no right to make this claim, do you?"

"If Aslan wanted you and your family to rule Narnia, I would not be here right now. Where were you and yours when this land you claim as your birthright was laboring under the tyranny of the White Witch? What effort did you and your people make to free Narnia from a century of winter? None. Given your druthers, I warrant you'd rather Jadis was still in power despite her empty promises. Indeed, your people contributed to the violence when they sided with Jadis and helped fight her battle."

"She made you her heir! How could you cast that aside?"

"People change. She offered no choice, just death and hatred and fear. Aslan is love. How could you want to serve evil?"

"My people acted as we saw fit, given what knowledge we had available."

I coughed, feeling a familiar rattle building in my chest. I wondered at myself for arguing so fiercely with him but I had come too far to back down even if I wanted to, and at this point I didn't want to. He had taken me, taken my freedom, promised nothing but a life of captivity, and now he expected me to thank him. I lashed out the only way I could - verbally. "But you say you are their king, or would be. Ultimately the responsibility to seek out the truth lies with you, does it not?"

"How now?" the prince asked again. He hid it well, but I suspected he was uncomfortable not only with the weight of my argument but with my manner. He was not used to people standing up to him so or possessing better vocabularies than he did.

"What of Narnia's inhabitants? You would drive them off their own land or worse still slaughter and eat them? As a king you rule by consent of the ruled, Valerlan, and you must meet the expectations of those you serve. They expect their king to be a Son of Adam. You may be descended in part from King Frank and Queen Helen but that was generations of marrying Ettins ago. How can you expect _me_ to save your people when _you_ haven't even tried yourself?"

"You speak as if being an Ettin is something to be ashamed of."

"And you speak as if having Human blood in your veins is the answer to all your woes when in fact it's made your position intolerable. Look at what's become of your own kin."

"You call us unnatural?" snapped Valerlan.

"Don't put such words in my mouth. You're betraying your own sense of guilt. You have no call to pride or shame for your birth. You yourself said your people were desperate and had naught but kin to wed. I ask what good can come out of such close bonds of blood."

Clearly he did not like to be reminded of his family's inbred line. He glared at me.

"I am the result of such a bond."

"You helped devour six people that you would call your subjects!" I shot right back, not caring that I shouted. My own voice hurt my head but it felt very good to unleash upon him. I was panting with effort and emotion. "You, who would set yourself up as the true king of Narnia, have murdered and consumed my cousins! Ones whom you wish to call cousins! Or do you? What manner of perversity is it that you can consume the flesh of a living, thinking, free individual? You may see those your men massacred as food but I see them as soldiers and parents and loyal subjects that fought for me and served me and loved me as I love them! Do you actually think Aslan would tolerate a cannibal king in the land that is the seat of his grace? Do you think Narnia would abide such abuse? They've cast off one tyrant. I'm certain they could do so again without me leading the army."

Clearly he hadn't thought of his conduct in such a way. I was sickened anew by him and his desire as he struggled to recover from my furious assault.

"Cousins? Why would I call beasts cousins and subjects? They are no cousins of the Ettins."

"Indeed they are not," I agreed hotly. "They are Narnia, and _I_ am _theirs_."

"And what would you have me do? Leave my people to starve?"

"I could ask you the same thing! What would you have me do, hand over my throne to a murderer? Sell my country to appease your wants and baseless claims? You say you would be a king - act like one!" I was panting in fury. I seized upon the emotion as surely as I would have laid hold of Rhindon's hilt. I knew it was foolish to argue so and I wondered at myself - Valerlan was my only ally amidst these monsters and every high-blown phrase drove him just a little further away. I'd had quite enough though, and his insult to every being in Narnia was the last straw. "What would I have you do? I bid you thole, Valerlan! _Thole!_ Suffer through your trials! Endure so that you may overcome! Lead your people! Your own people! In your own land! You look at our prosperity and wealth with envy. _You_ had the means to achieve these things in hand. Your people had them once before. You just don't want to take the time to create and learn and change. So much easier to steal and convince yourself these things are owed you by an unjust world."

He snorted, unmoved. "Thole? What kind of word is that?"

I paused. I had learned the word from my father's father, who in turn had acquired it during the Great War while serving under a Scottish doctor. "An ancient word. Older even than Narnia. From long ago and far away."

"It's an ugly sound."

"Only if you fear its implications."

"Which of course you do not."

I stared at him, his sarcasm falling flat, my own fire sputtering and leaving me feeling empty and forsaken. I leaned back against the rock, weary and heartsick and aching for my home. When I replied my voice was hoarse. "I embrace it."

He matched my coldness with his own, any hint of mercy gone from his eyes. "That's very good, King Peter. For your whole future, then, _I bid you thole_."


	17. Driven

**Chapter Seventeen: Driven**

'_When the dragon awoke, trouble flared again.  
He ripped down the rock, writhing in anger  
when he saw the footprints of the prowler who had stolen  
too close to his dreaming head.__'_

_Beowulf_, lines 2287 - 2290

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I think I frightened them. I know I frightened Kanell. Not even Peterkins could find something to say as we pressed onwards. Tired as we all were, I think the soldiers understood something had happened to alarm me and made no complaints beyond a few mumbles out of the Black Dwarfs which were silenced by a single glare from Xati. They all wanted the same things I did - our High King returned unharmed, the Ettins vanquished, and to be safely back in Narnia - but their reasons were not nearly as complex or deep as my own.

To the anxiety of the officers and soldiers alike, I stepped ahead with Shikov as the Boar lead the way, following the spoor left behind at the Ettins' passing. I carried one of the lanterns and Pandicat around my neck again, calling out warnings as Athan had done for us earlier. At first Kanell said nothing, but when the path became trickier and steeper he insisted that I not go first but move towards the center of the group. I didn't want to, but I backed down when I saw him brace himself for a fight. I did not want to put him in a position where he would call me Sir Edmund. It would not be fair of me.

As I walked I tried not to dwell on the past. I did not have time to ponder my reaction - or lack of it - to this new understanding of what Jadis had done to me. I didn't have time. _Peter_ didn't have time. We had to reach him and save him from whatever the Ettins planned. It was that simple. I didn't know, didn't _think_ that Peter could have handled going through what I had endured when I was ten. My ignorance of the true nature of what was done to me, I believed, was what had allowed me to tolerate the witch's abuses and had gone far towards preserving my character. Peter, older and wiser and perceptive, had no such veil to hide behind.

I was silent as I walked. This wasn't unusual, we were all as quiet as possible, but I know they all sensed the intensity of my desire to make haste. At one point Brant had to bodily restrain me from dashing ahead when it seemed to take an eternity for Xati to find a means up a sharp incline. Not as large or as powerful as Kanell nor as nimble as the least of us, she couldn't make it up and we finally broke out the ropes and the Black Dwarfs fashioned a harness for her. We were all exhausted by the time we hauled the mare up the slope. Kanell fixed me with his steely gaze and called for a rest, ordering the troop to eat and sleep.

I wanted to protest. Didn't they have any idea of the horror and shame and sense of violation that awaited Peter if I was right and the Ettins planned to use him to reclaim their birthright? He had enough to haunt him right now. He didn't need this. Not if I could prevent it. I couldn't let him be hurt the way I had been hurt. I couldn't bear it. I-

"Sir Edmund," said Kanell, laying his huge hand on my shoulder.

I jumped and gasped, snatched out of my tired thoughts. Turning around, I saw he carried a sleepy Peterkins in his arms. The little Fox was worn out and yawned mightily, his red coat bright against the Centaur's dark skin.

"How often must I tell you to eat and see to your own needs? Part of being a knight of Narnia is readiness, and part of readiness is seeing to your body's needs. We will rest and sleep. If you can't do either, at least pretend to try. You are useless to us and to your brother if you drive yourself to the point of collapse."

I nodded, reaching for Peterkins and Kanell handed him over. I let the kit have some of my food before we both curled up under my cape, nestled close and warm against Flinder. For a long while I lay there listening to the Bobcat's thudding heartbeats and Peterkin's tiny, whistling snores, the slow drip of water and the eerie echoes of the air as if the earth was slowly breathing. Was Peter asleep? Was he waking? Was he still clinging to hope that I would reach him? I finally slept but it was a restless sleep, and though I couldn't remember my dreams, they were troubled.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The Black Dwarfs got their wish because when I was woken a few hours later by Pauton's gentle prodding I was in rare form, hissing and growling and snapping at anything and everything. Their smiles of amusement didn't help the situation any and Kanell was forced to shoo them away from me before someone got hurt. Flinder slunk away at the first opportunity and Peterkins ran to Xati. I sat on the rocks a perfect little snappish beast as I tried to force my brain to be alert. It never worked, but I tried. By the time everyone was ready to move out I could walk, but it was at least another half hour before I could talk. Barin and Brant were delighted and I could hear them whispering, occasionally casting me smiles and looking on the verge of laughter when I glared back at them. Normally I would have been able to summon up a smirk, but on this occasion my glare was genuine. I didn't blame them. Phillip often said that you cannot blame an Ass for being an Ass. True to form I had interpreted his statement on a number of levels. In this particular case I think the simplest form applied - Brant and Barin were simply being what they were, Black Dwarfs.

"Your Majesty is most disquieted," Pandicat whispered in her sweet voice.

She was the first one to address me directly and I reached up and smoothed the banded tail she had wrapped around my throat. "I'm frightened for my brother," I said quietly.

A little chirping trill escaped the Lemur's throat. "Aslan guards him and guides us, good my king. He would not abandon our kings in the wilderness."

"I know," I replied. "But I'm as afraid for Peter's health as his safety. It's so cold and damp here he could get pneumonia."

Evidently she hadn't thought of that because she snuggled a little closer to me, warm and musky across my shoulders and around my neck. She made the little trill again as if she could somehow ward off the cold with her own body. I smiled and gently stroked her fur, heartened by her support.

Beside me, I heard Xati let forth with an uncharacteristic sigh. I followed her line of vision and let out a little moan of my own because the terrain angled up sharply again. We would be able to climb it but it would not be easy, especially on the Centaurs. I stared at the steep rock face with something akin to hatred, but if the Ettins had gone this way, so would I.

"Majesty," asked the mare, glaring at the path before us, "when we catch these Palish Giants and free your brother, might I kick each and every one of them in the ankle?"

"Only if you swear to cripple the lot of them, Lieutenant," I replied, producing a vicious chuckle out of her which I took as a promise.

It was difficult, tedious going, but my greatest frustration was that we were forced to move so slowly because not only was the slope very sharp, but a small spring poured down the face of the rock and made it very slippery. On my own I would have charged up the slope and probably hurt myself in the process since I was weighed down by the pack and an additional sword. Pandicat climbed on her own to avoid having her extra weight throw off my balance.

As we climbed so carefully I felt a strange sense of fear rising in my chest. It wasn't that I couldn't see the top of the jagged slope or the expanse of darkness behind me. Heights did not frighten me. Shikov still smelt the Ettins' spoor and was sure of the route, the Dwarfs argued only very rarely and picked the safest path, the Satyrs and Fauns remained determined, Athan and the officers were steady and true, and Peterkins managed to shut up. This feeling was all in me, all of my making, and it was growing with every step.

We were falling behind.

We were many, they were few. The Ettins knew the route; we were stumbling in the darkness. We were small by comparison to their huge forms with their long legs and brute strength.

Urgency seemed to grip me and a strange and sadly familiar tightness seized my chest. I looked up to the shadowy forms ahead of me, Barin and Pauton, as they scanned the rock rising up before them.

"Faster!" I barked. "Move faster!"

"Majesty?" breathed the Red Dwarf, shocked that I would snap at them when I was fully awake.

"We're too far behind! We've got to move faster or we'll never catch up. We're taking too long! All of you pick up the pace! _Now!_"

There was a moment of quiet, then Xati, Aslan bless that mare, ordered from below, "You heard his majesty! Move!"

With new drive, we reached the summit to the next chamber of these caverns. In the flash of my tilted lantern I saw glorious veils of white and yellow stone hanging like drapes from the ceiling, glittering formations like gigantic pieces of hoarfrost, a brace of smooth pillars made of living, growing stone. I looked, set the lantern down, and then bent to help the first Satyr behind me reach the top. There was no time to appreciate this place. Shikov was already snuffling around with his snout to the ground to pick up the route. I sent the others ahead as I waited for Xati and then Kanell to join me. Both Centaurs were out of breath; they were not designed for such sharp slopes. They were both too heavy for me to assist, but Athan was able to help Xati. She smiled and together they heaved and helped drag Kanell up the last few feet. Panting, he bent over, his flanks foamy with sweat. He waved his thanks and then motioned them ahead.

"Edmund?" wondered Kanell, looking at me with concern, my friend and teacher right now and not a captain of Cair Paravel's guard.

I shook my head. "Kanell, they have every advantage right now," I said. Unconsciously I put a hand to my chest, the wellspring of this anxiety. "We have to make up time and distance. There's naught else for it."

He stared at me, his dark features lost in the shadows. I was glad he didn't ask how I knew this, but I think he would have believed me if I told him this burning need to make haste was a warning from Aslan. The Great Lion was answering my prayer, just as he had promised he would when I was laboring under Jadis' deathless curse. I knew the feeling. I had felt it before. I was absolutely sure.

"I will drive this troop until we drop if I have to, Captain."

"I understand, King Edmund," he replied, and I knew that as far as he could, he _did_ comprehend.

"You don't understand enough," I said tightly. I dropped my voice down even though the others were well ahead of us. "I need you with me on this, Kanell. Know, sir, that I will _not_ allow the Ettins to do to Peter what Jadis did to me."

I stared at him, willing him to figure out everything I wasn't saying. In the faint light of the lantern's glow he drew back, his mouth falling open in speechless shock and sympathy. Then he leaned down, his hand gripping my shoulder tightly as he returned my steady gaze. For a long moment he was silent, allowing himself time to absorb what I had said. It was a testimony to his character that he recovered so swiftly, but his body language said more than words. When he spoke, his voice was as determined as my own, and I detected an undercurrent of fury at the witch that had destroyed so much of what was precious in Narnia.

"Neither will I."

I nodded slightly, suddenly nervous for some reason on top of being anxious. I suppose I simply needed someone else to know, to understand, and to offer support if I felt the need to push these people beyond their limits. With the tightness in my chest and so many worries on my mind I needed support regardless. I was also relieved a bit at his quiet acceptance. I had always considered him a friend, now more so than ever before.

"King Edmund! King Edmund! Captain, sir!"

We were both startled at the unexpected interruption. Kanell smiled sadly as the moment of confidences was shattered by a high-pitched voice. We both turned as Peterkins came bounding back to us, jumping from rock to rock until there were none left and he was forced to walk the earth like the rest of us.

"What is it, Peterkins?" I asked, picking up the lantern.

He stopped, gaping as he tried to remember his news. He blinked and gave himself a little shake, his ears and whiskers perking up as his memory jogged. "Flinder found a - a - a thing!"

"Lead on, good my Fox," I replied, not about to delve further and ignoring the almost-sigh that escaped the Centaur at Peterkins' notion of delivering a message. We followed the bushy red tail back to our waiting party.

The Bobcat was prowling about a flat expanse of rock where several narrow stalactites had fallen and shattered in ages past, looking, for all the world, like bleached bones. Peterkins led us to where Xati and Gicelus stood looking at some of the broken stone. Flinder drew near and put his paw on the rock.

"Here, King Edmund," he said, indicating a brownish stain atop the stalactite.

I leaned over, recognizing the color and smell of the stain.

Blood.

I had seen and spilled enough of the stuff to know it wasn't very old. A few inches away there was another smear in the shape of a human hand, as if someone had leaned on the stone to stand up. I reached down, covering it. The print was slightly larger than my own hand.

"Peter."

I looked up, scanning the troop. Hard, angry eyes looked right back at me and I was glad beyond words to see them.

Kanell was not the only one that understood me right now. Praise Aslan, I would not have to drive these people but rein them in.

"Good my cousins," I said, "we will not stop until our king is found."

It was Kanell who answered, his deep voice full of fierce emotion. "Indeed we will not, King Edmund."


	18. Revinim

**Chapter Eighteen:** **_Revinim_**

Once again, my heartfelt thanks to Almyra and the1hobbit for beta reading so many of these chapters and their reassurance and feedback as I slowly write this story. You ladies are the best! My thanks, too, go out to Miniver for her help in finding that elusive word I needed so badly.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'. . . the clear song of a skilled poet  
telling with mastery of man's beginnings,  
how the Almighty had made the earth  
a gleaming plain girdled with waters;  
in His splendor He set the sun and moon  
to be earth's lamplight, lanterns for men,  
and filled the broad lap of the world  
with branches and leaves; and quickened life  
in every other thing that moved. _

Beowulf, lines 90-98

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_There is a word in Narnia I heard one day at the end of a long search and a longer discussion. Susan and I had been in Cair Paravel's library trying to find anything that resembled a dictionary. There were thousands of books, big, beautiful, leather bound affairs that smelt sweetly musty and filled your arms when you pulled them off the shelves. Loaded book cases lined the walls and filled the floor, overflowing with books and scrolls and tablets of all sorts. I had been told this was the finest library in the world and I believed it. _

_There were few windows in this room - Irel would risk no sunlight fading the precious bindings - but we could see easily enough by lamplight as we pored over the volumes. Susan and I had been talking about how so many different species of beings could live in such concord as seen here in Narnia. It was remarkable and they were far more accomplished at getting along than the peoples in the world we had left behind. I thought there might be a law or rule or philosophy that could explain this wondrous harmony, but after looking everywhere we could think, there was nothing in any of the books._

_Susan used both hands and slid a huge tome back onto its wooden shelf, brushing her long hair out of her eyes. It was quite warm inside and we were both tired and sweaty and still intensely curious._

_"Perhaps Cheroom could help," she finally suggested, the first to admit that we weren't going to find what we wanted on our own. "Where would he be this time of day?"_

_"Ed will know," I replied confidently. _

_"Where is he?"_

_"No idea."_

_She clucked her tongue at me and smiled, going to the door. The first courier that came to her soft call was a Hummingbird. He sat like a living jewel in her palm, as brilliant as a handful of emeralds and rubies and pearls and more precious by far._

_"Can you find King Edmund or Cheroom for me, please?" Susan asked the Bird._

_I heard a faint chirp from the tiny thing before he zoomed off of her hand. She watched it go with delight on her face. I joined her in the hall where it was cooler and brighter and together we slowly walked with no destination in mind. Only a few weeks had passed since we had been crowned and there was already a hint of autumn in the air. We were still finding our way around Cair Paravel and trying to get used to the fact that we were kings and queens. I had to admit it was a very enjoyable but taxing transition as we attended classes to help us learn to rule and found advisors and stumbled through diplomatic meetings._

_We hadn't made much progress down the hall when the Hummingbird returned with reinforcements. I dodged out of the way as half a dozen of the tiny Birds swarmed around Susan. She stretched out her hands and they all landed on her fingers. She had to lean close to hear their news._

_"Your brother, King Edmund, is in the herb garden with Cheroom."_

_"Thank you," she whispered, smiling. "May I call upon you again some day?"_

_The Hummingbirds all bowed and fluttered their wings as a sign of respect, and one of the males excitedly said, "The honor would be ours, Gentle Queen."_

_As promised, we found Edmund with his Centaur tutor. Edmund was standing in the center of an intricate knot garden, gathering sprigs of the plants as Cheroom was explained the various meanings and uses for each. The garden smelled sweet and lush - southernwood and thyme and monarda all perfumed the air. They both looked up as we approached. Cheroom bowed to me, then bent low over Susan's extended hand. Though he had only been here a few days the old Centaur was rapidly becoming a favorite in Cair Paravel's court for his knowledge and wit. His wisdom seemed as deep as the sea and he took his job of teaching Edmund very seriously._

_"Good eve, High King, Gentle Queen," said he. "Your brother has been learning something of herbology."_

_Edmund handed me a branch of rosemary. "For remembrance," he said. "And sage is for wisdom. Southernwood for health and love. Garlic, to keep vampyres away."_

_"We have them?" I asked, looking at the collection on my palm. At Edmund's dour nod, I smiled, smelling the plants in my hand, thinking how fortunate we were, how wonderful this land and this life. I addressed my question to them both. "Do you mind if Su - I mean Queen Susan and I interrupt you for a moment?"_

_"Of course not," said Edmund. "Something wrong?"_

_"No," Susan replied. "But we were just in the library trying to find a dictionary and -"_

_By Cheroom's expression I knew he'd never heard of such a thing, but before I could speak Edmund hastened to say, _

_"It's a type of book from Spare Oom. It tells you what words mean."_

_The aged Centaur looked impressed, clearly thinking this was a worthwhile book indeed. "What word do you seek?"_

_It was my turn. "Well, sir, I was looking to see if Narnia had a word for humanity. I don't mean in the sense of the human race but as a concept of being kind and merciful."_

_"And respectful," added Edmund softly. _

_I cast him a quick look, but he was focused on Cheroom. _

_"We thought 'humanity' would be misleading and unfair to use here in Narnia," Susan said. "So is there a word, Cheroom, that can apply to everyone? Something that shows respect for all our people?"_

_He smiled, plainly delighted that we had asked such a question. "Yes, my queen," he replied, "there is such a word. Everywhere you go in Narnia, every being you meet, every tree and all the waters, the very wind and stones and air live by this concept. The word you seek is_ revinim_."_

Revinim_. Cheroom spoke it with such reverence and respect. Not since the first time I had heard Aslan's name pronounced had a word thrilled me as did_ revinim_. I felt the power of the word even if I didn't understand all the nuances of its meaning. If this was part of the magic that bound Narnia together in such wondrous harmony then it was not a thing to be trifled with. _

_I glanced at Susan to see if the word had a similar effect on her but she looked thoughtful and pleased, not awed. Edmund's expression was distant - I knew the word had touched him, but he seemed more satisfied than anything else, as if he'd figured out the answer to a question that had been occupying his mind. I remembered how Aslan's name had affected us each according to his or her desire at the time. I supposed this was no different._

_"The word is as old as Narnia - indeed, it's older," said Cheroom, continuing the instruction. "It was sung by Aslan himself as he called this world into being, sung before the Lion spoke the name of Narnia. The earth remembered it. The first trees and the dawning waters heard it. Aslan used the word to waken the stars and set the heavens in motion. It came before awareness. Before thought. Before speech. It sprang forth in that moment between life and love."_

_Listening to the wise old Centaur, I could see why Edmund enjoyed his classes so much (such a change from the past!) and the effect the calm, deep voice had on my brother. The bards of old must have had voices such as Cheroom's - deep and rich and expressive, the very thing to do justice to Narnia's history and the name of Aslan. I sat on the garden wall by Edmund, ready to listen all evening despite the faint chill of autumn in the air._

_"_Revinim_ commands that we treat one other with the respect due to all life, and through life, the respect due to death. Death is not a threat, Your Majesties, but merely the first and last true promise that life makes us the moment we are born. _Revinim_ is not so much spoken of as understood and served by every Narnian. It brings harmony among races that would otherwise be foes, and it prompts us to give and share each according to their abilities. It demands tolerance of that which is different. It is giving first so that we may take, only to give again. You will not find it explained in the library, King Peter, because for each person who lives by it, _revinim_ means something slightly different. The Dwarfs see it as the bounty the earth yields to their picks, my own people see it as the music that plays as the stars dance across the sky. The trees see it as water and sunlight and rich earth 'neath their roots. And yet it is all the same, for ultimately _revinim_ comes down to love and respect for Narnia and all she means, and through Narnia, love and respect and awe for the Great Lion that sang the word that first dawn."_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

When I awoke I was moving, but not under my own power. I opened my eyes to shadowy darkness and rough fabric against my cheek. It took me several minutes to rouse, but eventually I realized I was being carried in a folded blanket slung over Valerlan's shoulder as if I had been stuffed into a sling. Though the Ettin's hairy vest stank and the blanket was scratchier than hay, I had not been this warm in what seemed like an eternity. My body was still remarkably sore and my head and legs and feet ached. I did not have the strength to protest. We were moving fast, the Ettins' long legs propelling us along far swifter than when I had been walking. I felt a stab of fear at that realization. What if we got so far ahead of Edmund that he couldn't catch up?

I was too weary and heartsick to make either a sound or a plan. I couldn't understand why I was reacting so severely. I vagely recalled trying to stand earlier at the makeshift camp and collapsing in a heap. I might have even passed out again. Perhaps this dazed heaviness was the culmination of everything that I had endured so far, the shock and strain and injuries had caught up to me. There was one thing I could do, though, and I gladly did it.

_Aslan, be with me. Slow their steps and speed Edmund to me. Guard him, watch him, and let him prove to be everything that I know he is . . . and can be. Be with him, Aslan. Be with me . . ._

I suppressed a cough, not wanting Valerlan to think I had roused. A single thought formed in my mind, the echo of a familiar and beloved voice.

_Rest . . ._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Drink."

I woke again to cold, hard stone beneath me as my head was gently lifted and liquid was forced on me. It tasted awful but I was very thirsty and it soothed my throat. Was I sick? I must have been. It didn't feel like pneumonia. I'd felt this way after Beruna and when Edmund and I had fought the last remnants of Jadis' army - it was sheer exhaustion. I tended to wait until after an event to react to it, saving up my anxiety for one big rush after the fact, unlike Edmund who got nervous and stayed that way until the moment the action started.

I turned away from the water, coughing at the taste. What on earth had I just drunk? I must have been having another encounter with Ettin healing. It seemed as crude as it was effective. I lowered my head, curling up on the fabric beneath me, feeling too awful to do anything more. I felt the cloth being drawn over me and I lapsed into a stupor, not quite able to sleep as the medication coursed through my tired body.

"We'll stop here."

At Valerlan's words I heard mumbles of protest from the three Ettins.

"Will you coddle him so close when his children take your throne?" Hatta snapped.

The prince did not rise to the bait. "He's no good to us dead."

"I don't see what good he is at all."

"That's why you're not the heir to the throne and I am, cousin."

"For this sickly little worm you beat me?"

"No. I beat you because you disobeyed me and tried to tempt my brother into betraying me. If you make me raise my hand to you again, it will be for the last time, Hatta."

There was an annoyed snort out of my dull-witted nemesis. "We shouldn't stop so soon. We're almost out of food."

"There will be food with the garrison at Loy."

"She used to feed us. Remember? All those prisoners we used to eat? Now all we got were stinking fish and hardly enough meat for a decent meal."

I listened in horror. Jadis handed over prisoners to the Ettins? Narnian prisoners? Hatta must have known I wasn't quite asleep; I could hear the vindictive pleasure in his voice as he went on tormenting me with his words.

"Remember that time we killed those horse-things and those goats when you cut down that tree that was so precious to them? Remember how you burned it and we had a cooked meal?"

"Enough, Hatta," hissed Valerlan.

But it was Storr who replied and as usual he failed to recognize that Valerlan wanted the topic dropped. "You remember, brother! That apple tree Jadis said was poisonous, the one Father killed when she first made her promise to us."

I forced my eyes open and tried to focus on Valerlan. Ettins had killed the Tree of Protection? They had paved the way for the White Witch to sweep down from the north in a surge of ice and snow and conquer Narnia? The Tree had been hateful to Jadis and had protected Narnia from her for nine centuries. Valaner had killed it? Valerlan had destroyed it? What new depth of wickedness was this?

I couldn't help it. There were tears in my eyes as I looked at the Ettin Prince. He fixed me with an expressionless gaze, not about to betray any feelings before me or his subjects.

How many had died because of the Ettins' greed? How many Narnians had starved or perished from disease and despair as they waited in vain for spring to warm the land? How many soldiers died beneath the force of her fell troops? How many prisoners had she fed to these wicked beings? Oh, Aslan, how many had they slaughtered?

But for the cordial my only brother would have been another name on that tragic list.

They had ushered in a century of suffering and fear and they were actually saddened by its absence. They were as evil as the queen they had served and I was sickened anew. I did not care how valid Valerlan's claim to Narnia's throne may or may not be. The Ettin prince could have been crowned by Aslan himself - not that the Lion would ever have invested such grace in a being so evil - and I would still contest his authority. Anyone with so little regard for the inhabitants of Narnia, with such a complete lack of caring and a total disregard for _revinim_ and all it meant was not nor ever could be a sovereign in my land. It would be an affront against my home and against nature. Valerlan and his race had no respect for anyone save themselves and a grudging acknowledgment that they were descended from a Son of Adam. The crown prince might think he was in the right, but he missed Aslan's whole intent in creating a place such as Narnia.


	19. Children of the Night

**Chapter Nineteen: Children of the Night **

_'Then out of the night  
Came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift . . .'_

_Beowulf, _lines 703-704

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Shikov?"

The Boar lifted his head, testing the air and shifting about. "They built a fire here. Shine your lamp to the right, Majesty."

I obeyed, letting the faint gleam sweep the uneven ground. Sure enough I found the remains of charred wood and ash. I noticed that the fires were getting smaller. The Ettins must be running low on fuel and for Peter's sake I hoped they didn't run out. I examined the area as Shikov waited for the rest of the party to catch up to us. Beside the fire it seemed there was little else to indicate anything had passed this way. At least there wasn't any more blood.

Presently I was joined by the archers. I hadn't realized it before but Satyrs and Fauns have a particularly deep hatred for Ettins. It seems their people suffered more than most because the Palish Giants considered them a delicacy. I understood their loathing as it was an unpleasant distinction I knew I shared with them. Dwarfs on the other hand made for small, tough mouthfuls and had been generally ignored.

"Not so far, Master Fox," called one of the Satyrs, watching Peterkins bounce past us with enviable reserves of energy.

"I smell fire," he said, his tail held high.

"Right here," returned the Satyr, pointing at the remnants before me.

Peterkins shook his head. "No, Nex, the air is moving this way. There's more fire up ahead."

I glanced at the Boar and frowned, looking to where Peterkins was still testing the air. Shikov wrinkled his snout and moved away to verify the find.

"I smell it, too, King Edmund," said Pandicat in my ear as Shikov looked back at me and nodded.

"Wait for Kanell," I cautioned the kit only because I wanted to bolt away myself and knew the Centaur would be furious. I had to start setting an example eventually and there was no time like the present. Why would there be two fires so close together?

"Peterkins smells another fire ahead," I said as soon as the rest of the group joined us. Kanell clearly had the same thoughts I did and Xati frowned.

"A falling out of forces?" she suggested.

"Aslan help us if they've split up," muttered the captain darkly.

"Let's go look," I suggested firmly, not at all pleased at his implication. I hadn't thought of that and things would be very bad indeed if the Ettins had gone separate ways. "Lead on, Peterkins."

We followed the little Fox as he wound his way through a maze of pillars, his nose to the ground, Shikov a few steps behind to make certain we didn't get lost. Not even a quarter of a mile away we came across what was left of a second fire. Smaller than the first, it had been strewn and trampled and we could see signs of a scuffle – ashy footprints and smears of charcoal covered the sheltered little cove. On the ground was a pile of leather rope next to a puddle of dried vomit.

Peterkins sniffed around, voicing a quiet, "Grufull," at the smell of dried bile before he explored further afield. I knelt down, studying the severed leather straps, measuring the curve of one stiff band around my own wrist. It would have fit Peter. The vomit must have come from Peter as well - an Ettin would have spit up far more. Close by me, Pauton and Brant studied the ground.

"King Edmund," said Pauton, "look."

I leaned in close and saw what he was pointing out: blond hairs, the color of wheat. A scattering of them lay right beside the pieces of leather. Wonderful. How many other abuses was Peter enduring right now? I felt the anger building up inside me, a smoldering fury that would burst forth when even I couldn't contain it any longer. Oreius had told me time and again that rage such as I experienced - this gradual, quiet, restrained emotion - was as valuable on the field of conflict as a sword because I controlled the passion, it did not control me. The opposite was true of Peter but somehow the results were invariably the same. He was calm, deceptively so, but when he snapped his fury was like a tidal wave that obliterated everything in its path.

"Peterkins," I called and the little Fox came bounding over. "Were any of the Ettins blond?"

I knew the answer already but I just had to make sure. The kit stared at me and I realized he didn't know what I was talking about. Hastily I amended my question.

"Did any of the bad Giants you saw by Lake Asher have yellow hair like King Peter?"

That he understood and he perked up immediately. "No. They all looked like the Satyrs or Kanell only not so clean."

"Thank you." I looked to the Dwarfs, puzzled. "Why would they build two fires so close together? These bonds were cut through. Why free Peter here?"

"And who ripped out his hair?" muttered Pauton.

"I think we know _who_ it was," Brant replied, "the question is _why_."

"Majesty," called Xati. I rose and joined the mare. She pointed to a spatter of blood flecking the nearby pillars and ground.

I could not keep the dread from my voice. "Peter, you think?"

"No," she replied, "the drops are too large to have come from your brother. If they had he would have been very sorely wounded and there would be far more blood than this. No, this is Ettin doing violence to Ettin, praise Aslan."

I saw Kanell smile at her bloodthirsty comment before he stepped away, his hooves echoing in the relative quiet. Flinder and Pandicat were finding more and more sprays of blood in the immediate area. Apparently quite the battle had occurred, but it didn't seem as if any of the blood had been Peter's. I doubt they would have told me if it was.

"What does this mean?" I pressed Kanell when the Centaur came back from a quick circuit of the area, following Shikov around as the Boar tried to find the primary scent once again.

"All is not well among our enemies. This is good for us and perhaps dangerous for the High King."

"How so?"

"He is extremely valuable to them both as a Human and a king. I suspect that if they fight over anything, it will be him."

I sighed, tired of being frightened. My mood wasn't quite as low as it had been dragged down when Peter had gone adventuring into the Western Wild to save me, but then he hadn't been snatched up by enemies of Narnia that looked upon him the same way we looked upon field rations.

"We can't stay here," I said, shaking myself into action. "Shikov, have you found -"

"Something approaches!" cried Flinder, his eyes wide as he came running back to us. Peterkins, alarmed by his tone, was hot on his heels. "It's coming from behind!"

For the first time in ages I felt a surge of hope course through my weary soul. I looked to the Bobcat and asked,

"Is it walking?"

"Nay, King Edmund! It comes with a roar – like the ocean waves!"

"Another flood?" suggested Athan, but I shook my head as excitement filled me.

The other Animals and Magical Creatures had perked up and were listening. The archers drew their weapons and notched arrows and Kanell drew his broadsword.

"Weapons down!" I ordered harshly.

Kanell looked at me in shock. "You know what it is?" he demanded.

Even I could hear the eerie, welling sound now and I broke into a smile. "I know what I _hope_ it is, Sir!"

They stared at me in absolute confusion. I stepped forward towards the center of the chamber. One of the Dwarfs tried to stop me but I twisted out of his hold.

_Finally_, my mind exclaimed, triumphant despite my fatigue. I faced my companions, again motioning their weapons down as I put myself right in the line of fire. I clapped my hands once, waited a moment then clapped twice more before spreading my arms wide and waiting, looking back over my shoulder to see. A look of astonishment spread over many of their faces as the soldiers realized who I was summoning.

Seconds later a terrific, piercing shriek echoed through the cavern as a magnificent Flying Fox swept into view, her wingspan longer than I was tall. She swooped low and landed on my shoulders with a thump, her wings wrapping around me for a moment as I swayed with the impact. Despite her great size she weighed very little. More shrieks followed and suddenly the very air was alive with Bats of every shape and size and color. They landed on me, brushed past me, pulling at my hair and clothes in greeting as they swarmed about and jockeyed for perches on the stalactites or the startled soldiers. Peterkins let out a squeak of fear and hid behind the legs of the Dwarf archers, his eyes wide with amazement. I looked about, smiling for the first time in ages as more and more flew into the chamber on a rush of wind. There were Flying Foxes and Little Brown Bats, Bats with big ears and pug noses, Bats with tails, Bats without, blacks and browns and grays and even some wan and pallid Ghost Bats. They fluttered and cried out and talked a terrible racket, but for me it was like unto music.

_Thank Aslan._ I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment, listening as the newcomers called out excited greetings to our party.

I reached a hand to my shoulder and the Flying Fox climbed onto my forearm, digging her claws into the heavy fabric of my tunic until she could comfortably hang beneath my extended arm. She furled her great black wings snugly around her fuzzy golden body then let out a mighty hiss.

"Silence!"

The Bats obeyed instantly. Kanell, though surprised, looked impressed at her command. The stone all around us seemed to pulse with life as the Bats shifted about. There were hundreds. Perhaps thousands. It was more than I had ever hoped for when I sent Fulton, Piper, and Tell out across the Lantern Waste to rally their winged cousins to the High King's aid.

"Welcome, dear lady," I said, feeling more tiny forms clinging to my clothes as Bats crawled up to my shoulders and in my hair to get a better view. "Aslan's blessings upon you."

She fixed me with bright, intelligent eyes and I knew immediately that she was a force to be reckoned with. Her voice was high-pitched and harsh on the ears as she bowed to me and replied, "I am Pa'ala Mivven."

"I know a Gil Mivven."

There was pride in her voice as she said, "He is my son."

I smiled again and felt my heart lighten. I was glad we had something in common. "You have a goodly son, lady."

She returned my smile, pleased with the compliment. "This I know. You have summoned us, King Edmund. We have obeyed."

I looked all around at the cavern and said, "Thank you. Thank you all for coming. I cannot begin to express my gratitude to you. You know the situation - Ettins entered Narnia, killed six soldiers, and captured the High King."

A collective hiss rose from the mass of winged creatures as they were reminded of their mission.

"This we know." Pa'ala shifted, clearly eager for action. "What are your orders, Just King?"

"Send scouts ahead. We need to locate my brother and to find out as much as we can about the Giants holding him." As I spoke I looked at Kanell. The Centaur nodded his approval of the plan. "Can you do this without being spotted?"

A ripple of amusement spread through the chamber. Pa'ala looked at me slyly. "We are the Children of the Night, King Edmund. We are seen only when we choose to be seen."

"If any of your number are tired or hungry they can ride with us until they recover. The rest of you go on ahead and send reports back."

"The king has spoken! Come!" cried the Flying Fox. She let out a shriek of excitement that was so high-pitched I could barely hear it but produced a yip out of Peterkins. He dropped low, trying to cover his ears. Countless tiny voices answered her call to action. Oh, how I loved these Animals!

There was a mighty rush of wings as the Bats took off ahead of us. Pa'ala spread her huge wings and cried, "Throw me!" She was too large to drop down and take flight from my height otherwise. I obeyed, catching her under her soft belly with both hands and gently tossing her upwards as I called out the Dwarfish blessing, "Aslan between you and danger!" In moments they were gone, leaving behind perhaps a hundred of the smallest Bats.

We fed them bits of dried fruit and meat depending on their preferences and those that did stay were invited to ride upon Shikov. The Boar was rather chilled, and the Bats that piled onto him formed a fuzzy, living blanket that warded off the cold as they slept. Peterkins, who had never seen a Bat up close, was fascinated. As we prepared to set out again I stood beside Kanell and Xati, watching him as I helped Pandicat get settled across my shoulders once again.

"Are you night birds?" he asked a Ghost Bat that was snuggled down on Shikov's bristly head.

The Bat chuckled and the Fox winced. "We are not birds, little one, no more than you are. We are Bats."

"You have very large ears," he said, staring.

"So do you," countered the Bat.

He tried to look up to see his own ears and finally had to take the Bat's word for it. "My mother says I have cousins that are all white like you. She says they're Arctic Foxes, not Red Foxes like me. Are you an Arctic Bat?"

"I am a Ghost Bat."

The kit's eyes grew huge, having heard of ghosts since in Narnia they were very real though not necessarily feared. "You're not alive?"

Kanell ducked his head down, trying not laugh. Xati sighed, elbowing her captain in the ribs though all she hit was armor.

"What do you think?" asked the Bat.

He stretched his nose far forward and sniffed. The Bat hissed playfully. Peterkins gave a wail and bolted straight for me. With a little laugh I scooped him up and handed him off to Xati. In a few moments, reassured by her soothing, he looked back at the chuckling Bat with renewed interest.

"Are they really ghosts?" I heard him ask.

"It's just a name," the Centaur replied. "Surely you're not afraid of a name?"

"Well . . ." he hedged, making Xati sigh and shake her head.

There was a pleased and crafty look in Kanell's eyes as he addressed me. "You should have told me."

I grinned up at him. "And spoil the surprise?"

His only response was to cuff me lightly on the back of the head and give me a little push onwards. I smiled and hurried to catch up with Athan as we followed Shikov and his blanket of Bats. I had not realized until this moment how greatly I had been wanting for hope. I winged a silent prayer to Aslan, thanking him for this renewal.


	20. March Stepper

**Chapter Twenty: March Stepper**

'Behavior that's admired  
is the path to power among people everywhere.'

Beowulf, lines 24-25

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Up!"

A painful blow to my ribs landed and I roused with a start and a bark of pain. Around me the four Ettins were stirring as they prepared to move out and I reluctantly left the warmth of the blanket I'd been wrapped in and stood up. A small fire burned and for the first time I could see our surroundings. The roof of the chamber was very low and that just made my companions look that much larger and sinister as they loomed around me.

Valerlan thrust a piece of bread into my hands along with some of that questionable, leathery beef. "Eat," he ordered.

I obeyed, not having eaten since . . . I had no idea when. The bread was getting progressively staler and harder to chew and the beef was inedible in my opinion, but I did my best because I was genuinely hungry. After a few moments I realized I was the only one eating. Storr and Haigha were readying themselves, but Hatta sat in his spot and stared at me with open hatred. Valerlan either didn't notice or didn't care, he just grunted,

"Hurry up with your feast, little king."

Aslan have mercy upon me. It was not going to be a good day.

Still, I was vastly improved. I didn't know how long I had slept, but my head no longer ached. My legs were sore but nothing as bad as a few stops ago and I knew I could walk even if I really didn't want to. Whatever medicine Valerlan had forced upon me seemed to have helped a great deal even though I still felt a tightness in my chest. I could only hope that the Ettin's potion would let me hold out against pneumonia. I hastened to finish the heavy bread and wrestled with the last bit of so-called beef. It was stringy and tough and got caught in my teeth.

"I would like some water, please," I said to Valerlan.

Hatta snorted and mocked, "I would like some water, please! Phah!"

Valerlan's stormy glare encompassed us both. "Am I your servant?"

_Oh, here we go,_ I thought miserably. Our last conversation still rankled the crown prince and he intended to vent his spleen at everyone. I had to tread lightly. Aloud I said, "No, you're not. I'm your captive and as such I must look to you for my needs."

That seemed to mollify him for the time being. "Haigha!" he snapped. "Water for this one."

Haigha grumbled, plainly annoyed at being forced to do anything for anyone other than himself, especially me. I noticed that he, Storr, and Hatta were moving very slowly and stiffly and all of them sported bruises. Disobedience came at a hefty price, it seemed. Haigha poured water into his wooden cup and held it just out of my reach, clearly intent on teasing me and too thick to realize the last thing I was going to do was perform for his satisfaction. He stood up straight for perhaps the first time since I'd had the misfortune to see him and I caught a glimpse of his full, towering bulk. And there, gleaming bright against the dark fabric of his tunic, I spotted the knife Edmund had forged for me thrust into his belt.

My breath caught in my throat but not so much that they would hear. Of all my worldly possessions, the only thing I valued above that dagger was Rhindon. Not even my crown carried more importance to me, for I was a king with or without a crown, but a warrior needed weapons. More than a mere knife, it was a symbol of my brother's love and diplomatic skills, for he had served under the Dwarfs at the Blue River Smithy in the meanest, dirtiest jobs in order to gain their good will. In return they had walked him through forging the blade, fashioning it from the finest steel in Narnia. That dagger had protected my life and ended a war and I was sickened to see it in the clutches of one of these monsters.

Just then Haigha spoiled his own notion of lofty superiority by banging his head on the uneven ceiling. I resisted the urge to smirk, though I must admit the deep, hollow _thud!_ that sounded as he impacted the stone was very satisfying. Storr and Hatta roared with laughter and Valerlan shouted angrily,

"Give him the water, Haigha! Now!"

Embarrassed, hurt, shamed at playing servant to my likes, the Ettin obeyed by dashing the cup of water at me. It splashed my face, but thanks to bad aim and being three times my size most of the liquid landed on Valerlan as the Ettin turned around. Haigha's eyes grew huge as he realized what he had done. A moment later I was thrust roughly aside by Valerlan's hand as he strode forward. I hit the ground as Haigha tried too late to escape his prince's wrath.

I didn't look up. I had no love for Haigha and I didn't care if Valerlan killed him on the spot, but I had seen and experienced quite enough mindless violence of late that I did not want to endure being witness to more. In the faint light I watched the water drip from my hair to the thirsty stone beneath my hands and tried to concentrate on that and not the sound of one man mercilessly beating another. It seemed to go on forever and finally, above Haigha's sobs and Valerlan's grunts of exertion, Storr begged,

"Brother, stop! Stop! You'll kill him! It's just water! He didn't mean to hit you!"

"But he did mean to disobey," hissed Valerlan. He landed a last, heavy kick on Haigha. I finally ventured to look over as Valerlan seized his victim by the hair. Haigha had been battered to a bloody pulp, his face was barely recognizable. "Water for the captive. Was _that_ so very hard? Give him a drink so we can be on our way and reach Loy before we all starve. But no, you see fit to defy me and make a mockery of my orders!" He gave a shout and raised his massive fist to beat Haigha some more.

Storr tried to pull him away, pulling on his brother's arm. "Please, Valerlan! The pet king isn't worth this!"

Valerlan slapped his hands away, releasing Haigha with a shove that sent the Giant sprawling on the stone. "That's where you're wrong, Storr," he replied harshly, ignoring the hurt look his words produced in the simpleton's eyes. A few loping, uneven strides brought him before me. I looked up at him silently. My hair and tunic were soaked and the sight made him growl. Valerlan was furious and even though he knew anger at me was not justified he looked at me with burning hatred. My presence divided them, isolated him more than ever before even though he had no peers among his people.

"Rope," he ordered, gesturing to Hatta.

Moments later my wrists were being bound again. So much for that brief illusion of freedom.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Haigha's sobs echoed far behind us as Valerlan set a pace that almost seemed intent on leaving the injured Ettin to find his own way . . . or not. I know they all wanted to blame me for this even when they had all seen Haigha bring it upon himself. Tempers were short and so were words as we marched. Finally Storr refused to go further until Haigha was allowed to catch up to us. Valerlan reluctantly halted and I immediately sank down, exhausted even though we hadn't come very far.

"Narnia must not think so very highly of you," commented Valerlan in a nasty tone, rudely poking me in my sore ribs with his finger. "It doesn't seem as if they love you enough to follow and mount a rescue. Though perhaps they did and they're lost in these caverns, wandering about in the dark until they starve or fall into a crevasse. Such a waste of food."

It was a forced attempt at vicious humor, I could tell, and he lashed out at me to make himself feel better. I gazed at him in silence, well aware that anything I did or didn't do right then would provoke him.

"What, little king, no ancient words of wisdom for me to thole?" he sneered. "Has the Cat not heard your prayers?"

"He has heard," I replied softly and in a tone that left no room for doubt.

Valerlan abruptly wrapped his hand around my throat, lifting me to my feet. He could kill me in an instant.

"Would he hear you if you screamed?"

"Yes," I said. Fortunately there wasn't any real pressure on my throat. I met his eye defiantly, waiting.

He released me roughly. "And tell me, King Peter, are you still afraid?"

I sat up again from where I had tumbled to the stone, the tether stopping my momentum. "I am."

Turning away with a huff, Valerlan muttered, "I don't believe you fear anything for very long."

How could I respond to such a statement? I said nothing as I resumed my seat.

He cast me an assessing look. "You were listening yesterday."

I saw no reason to deny it. "I wasn't asleep, if that's what you mean. I heard what was said about the Narnian prisoners, that you and your people ate the captives Jadis handed over to you. And I heard your brother say that you destroyed the Tree of Protection."

His scrunched-up features twisted into a grin of sorts. "So what do you think, little king?"

I stared at him and simply said, "I think you're evil, Prince Valerlan."

There was a pause, and then Valerlan burst out laughing. After a moment's hesitation, Storr joined in and even Hatta rolled his eyes and shook his head at what they all considered to be my naivety. My expression never changed and after a while Valerlan hesitated, just as he had paused in the throne room of Jadis' castle when I promised him I would get him. Despite his efforts to mock me this was not a laughing matter and he finally quieted down, disturbed by my posture. He himself had said he didn't think anything frightened me for long. He was right. I don't believe he was very comfortable at the notion of being struck off that particular list, but I think he realized I was no longer frightened of_ him_, just what he might do to me.

Haigha caught up and collapsed on the rock beside Storr with a groan and a whimper. He looked an awful sight, all bruised and bloodied, his face swollen so badly he could barely see and tears streaking his dirty cheeks. He was limping and clutched his ribs.

The moment he sank down, Valerlan stood, yanking me up by the leash connected to my bound wrists. "Come! We have far to go. Keep up. We shan't stop again until we rest."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

At the end of that miserable, blighted day we finally stopped. Valerlan distributed food and precious little there was to go around. I was the only one that got anything close to enough to eat but that was only because the Ettin had no idea what constituted enough food for a Human. Nasty as the rations were I ate everything he gave me. I needed the energy. At the end of the meal I steeled myself once again as I said to no one in particular,

"I would like some water, please."

Hatta and Haigha stiffened apprehensively and I cast the lot of them a hearty glare. I still needed to drink regardless of their fear. Valerlan sounded both smug and superior as he ordered,

"Haigha, get him some water."

A few moments later I was kneeling down and drinking the warm, foul-tasting water from Haigha's cup, hastily poured and set before me. It was as awful as it was wonderful and I greedily drank my fill. Finally I sat back, panting slightly.

"Thank you," I said, again addressing no one in particular. I left the cup where it was and Valerlan yanked me over beside him. He pointed to a spot between him and the curved wall of the cavern.

"Sleep there."

So despite the hearty beatings he'd distributed Valerlan still didn't trust his own kin. Very heartening. I sat down, finding a comfortable section of rock to lean against for now as I watched the Ettins and wondered when was he last time I'd removed these boots. Storr was trying to assist Haigha with his many cuts and bruises. Valerlan just sat and stared into the small flame as he and Hatta ignored everyone around them. I thought of that last night by the Lantern Waste, back when my soldiers and horse were still alive, playing chess with Peterkins and watching the Boars dance a _boreen._ I thought of Edmund and the smile he'd cast over his shoulder as he rode away on Phillip the next morning. Would that we had all gone to see the Tree.

The Tree. Oh, Aslan, what would have happened to Edmund if the Ettins had destroyed the new Tree of Protection? Granted he had eaten an apple from the Tree and he said Jadis' blood had been nullified, but even he had to admit that _the blood was still there._ I couldn't help but wonder how he knew the blood was in him and what it felt like. Ed had once said that he just knew, just like he knew when he was hungry (which was always) or I knew when I was awake. My younger brother had a tendency simply to be certain of things. Sometimes it was very odd, but oft times it was useful. Should the new Tree be destroyed would that allow the power of the White Witch's blood to be revived? My tired mind conjured up a whole host of possible complications for Edmund in that case. As if his life wasn't complicated enough! If the Tree was lost would Aslan send me to fetch another apple? The thought of having to go into the west again was at once appealing and horrible. Right now I would have gladly traded places with any spot along that long, hard, bitter trail. At least there I knew the way home.

Suddenly I looked up. I had heard something, noticeable only because it was different from the drip-drip-drip of the water building and eroding the formations all around us or the drafty air or the Ettins. I glanced at Valerlan and Hatta, but their hearing was not nearly as acute as mine and they made no reaction.

There. I heard it again. A faint _woosh-woosh_ as the air was pushed off its normal course through the caverns. The sound was familiar but I couldn't place it. I leaned my head back casually as if I was lost in thought, an activity I was fairly certain most of my companions had little experience with, gazing up at the swirling veils of stone above that draped like fabric before being swallowed by the darkness.

Woosh-woosh-woosh.

An uneven, erratic sound. Something was moving up above me, something large and agile and flying. Something that could maneuver through this forest of stone without a need for sight. Something . . .

Bats.

That was the sound! Of course I'd heard it before! I'd heard it a thousand times before as Edmund sent messages and letters by his favorite couriers. I looked upwards, desperate to see one of the small Animals. We were too deep in the caverns, too removed from their normal food sources, for them to be anything other than Narnian Bats. Or at least that's what I prayed.

Aslan, Mighty Lion, please let me be right!

Bats meant one thing: Edmund, and Edmund meant my rescue was close at hand.

_Please, let me be right!_

"What are you looking at?" demanded Valerlan savagely.

I cast him a quizzical look as if I didn't understand his ire, as if the object of my attention was perfectly obvious. When I spoke, it wasn't as a captive, but a king. "I'm looking at the stars."

He snorted derisively. "You can't see them from here!"

With a faintly superior smile I said, "But I know they're there, Crown Prince. Such is faith."

He snorted again, shaking his head in disgust. His was a soul devoid of romance and poetry, it seemed, and sadly enough I doubted he had faith in anything beyond being hungry the next day and a miserable future. My words worked though, because he turned away, muttering something under his breath about foolishness and idiots. I was glad to drive him away so easily, for his temper was very much on edge and I did not want to provoke him. One beating from his likes was more than enough for me.

I shifted, deliberately moving the tether tied to Valerlan's belt so that the Bats would see I was not free to flee. I listened, staring into the darkness, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope returned to me.


	21. Seekers In the Dark

**Chapter Twenty-One: Seekers In the Dark**

_'Through the strength of one they all prevailed;  
they would crush their enemy and come through  
in triumph and gladness.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 698 - 700

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Hope was not the only thing to return to me with the arrival of the Bats. Fatigue, hunger, and a whole host of other needs came to the fore and refused to be ignored any longer. We had pushed ourselves beyond our endurance and after a few more hours of walking I was almost asleep on my feet, barely able to think or speak. Finally forced to stop and rest, we huddled close and warm to catch a few hours sleep under Pandicat's watchful guard. Even the Centaurs, who usually slept standing up, lay down side by side, leaning heavily against each other. I could hear them whispering as I settled down between Flinder and Athan and I wondered if Xati knew or guessed exactly how taken Kanell was with her.

Peterkins was already asleep atop my pack when I went to lie down. He didn't stir as I lifted his limp form and settled him in my arms.

"King Edmund?" whispered the Bobcat beside me.

I rested my head on the pack, wedging the kit between us to keep him warm. "Yes, Flinder?"

"That was very well done, Your Majesty. Summoning the Bats, I mean."

I smiled, pleased with praise from so hearty a veteran. "Thank you. I'm glad so many came."

"They do not forget a kindness, Majesty," said Athan. "They are proud to serve and to have so many of their kin serve you."

"I won't forget, either," I replied softly. An instant later I was asleep.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I awoke five or six hours later. I didn't feel rested because I wasn't, but I did feel better than before and I knew I could function once I actually woke up. I dragged myself upright and scowled at everything as the party around me stirred. Yawning long and hard, I looked up with mild surprise as Bats, swift and agile as swallows, darted in and out of the chamber. As I watched I saw them report to the Centaurs or Pandicat before they flew off into the darkness or swooped down for a drink or food. One of the Red Dwarf archers was in charge of their care and he quietly inquired after the needs of every Bat that paused to rest. Those that were too tired to continue were deposited on Shikov's back for a nap, and the Boar was plainly pleased by the added warmth. What I had asked of them was truly a Herculean effort, especially for the smaller Bats to have flown so far. I felt a swell of pride that so many had responded to my call.

Peterkins was still soundly asleep, flat on his back with his front paws drawn up under his outstretched chin. Resisting the urge to tickle that exposed belly, I wrapped my cloak around him and stood up, running a hand through my filthy hair and trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes. I could sense a deep feeling of satisfaction running through the soldiers as I joined Kanell. He smiled at my less-than-pleasant morning self, a fierce gleam of pleasure in his dark eyes, and quietly he said,

"Majesty, we have had word back from Lady Mivven."

I blinked stupidly, trying to act alert as I rasped, "What word, Captain?"

He motioned and out of the darkness beyond the halo cast by our small fire a Bat dropped down and landed on his arm. I reached out with both hands and the captain deposited the ball of black fuzz and fragile wings into my hold. I didn't know the species of Bat, but he had wonderfully large ears and a short snout and his claws tickled as he clutched my thumbs.

"Good morn, cousin," I said automatically. For all we knew it could be morning. It certainly was for me.

"King Edmund," he replied with a deep bow.

"What name has your mother blessed you with?" I asked, remembering the manners and etiquette lessons Lady Avalynn had pounded into my skull.

"My mother named me Twilth, Sire."

I smiled faintly, thinking it was an appropriate name for a Bat. Many of the smaller ones had names that could tie one's tongue into a knot. Clearing my throat - for I was not about to attempt pronouncing his name so soon after rousing - I pressed, "What word do you bring?"

"We have found the High King. Your brother lives, King Edmund."

I stared speechlessly at the Bat that filled my cupped hands, my mind awhirl with such relief and gratitude and delight that I was overwhelmed. I opened my mouth but words failed me. This was what I had prayed for, but it happened far sooner than I had anticipated.

"We heard him speak to the Ettins holding him captive. He spoke of faith. I think he heard us, though the Ettins did not," continued Twilth, sounding remarkably pleased with himself and rightly so. "We flew loudly and he searched the darkness for us. His hands were tied before him and he was tethered to the belt of the Ettin leader. The High King seemed unharmed and his wits were sharp. He looked and sounded tired but I think we all do right now."

He spoke with understandable pride. I wanted to thank him. I wished I could thank him. I longed to thank him for making my heart hammer in my chest and my throat catch and my vision blur. This sense of joy was as painful to express as it was wonderful to experience. I tried again to say anything at all and failed. How did Peter manage to be so emotional and so in control of himself at the same time? He could cry and never look like an idiot while doing it whereas I wasn't crying and I still couldn't so much as choke out a single word.

"Pa'ala Mivven sent scouts ahead, trying to find where the Ettins are taking the High King. Some have returned reporting a scent of fresh air. The path is not easy for those who walk, Majesty, but Pa'ala estimates that the distance to your brother is just over ten miles. She has stationed Bats all along the route to guide you."

It felt as if my heart skipped a beat. Ten miles. Ten miles. It was not so far, even in this pit. I looked up at Kanell in quiet astonishment. By the Lion, these soldiers had given all I had asked and more! The Centaur shared my thoughts, smiling with pride at how well everyone had performed, not the least of who was the Bat in my hands.

I fell back on the one gesture we rulers of Narnia had learned to use when all else (in this case, my self control when my brother was concerned) failed: I very carefully kissed the expectant Twilth on top of his fuzzy head. They're delicate creatures, like Birds, but he grew perfectly still in my hands as I bestowed this blessing upon him.

I needed to be alone. Just for a little while, to pull myself back together. I managed a small smile for the Bat who was positively puffed up, and I handed him off to Kanell.

"We'll meet you ahead a few paces, Your Majesty," the Centaur said softly, cradling Twilth in gentle hands.

I nodded, grateful that the captain knew me so well and understood what I needed just then. I watched Kanell turn his huge frame about and walk slowly away. He stopped when he was a polite distance away and I heard his soft order that I was not to be disturbed for a few moments. Aslan bless that Centaur. He was as wise as he was kind and I watched as he organized the little troop to move out as soon as I joined them.

There was a painful knot in my throat and I sniffed as my nose threatened to start running. I wiped at my face with my sleeve and hand in annoyance. Why was it I could be so eloquent before hundreds and so quick-witted as to verbally spar with ambassadors and sages but I fell to pieces when confronted by my own reactions and a desire to cry? I wasn't ashamed of my feelings, especially given the situation; I just didn't know how to let them out without breaking down utterly. Perhaps it was because I was better at burying emotions than expressing them.

I strode away a few steps, unable to see very well and not about to give the soldiers, miners, spies, and camp follower an excuse to come rushing after me and disturb my thoughts. Peeling off my glove, I laid my hand upon Rhindon's hilt. I slowly drew Peter's sword in a backhanded motion and held it point-down before me, distant firelight glinting off the silvery blade. Soon. Soon I would return it to my brother's hand.

_He spoke of faith._

Oh, Peter . . .

I sank down, barely aware that I was moving until I was seated on a rock. I clung to the sword with hands that felt weak and arms that were almost too heavy for my shoulders to support. I let the reaction come, knowing better than to fight it as I stared Rhindon. It occurred to me that we needed to establish some type of litany for moments like this, some type of prayer of thanksgiving so Aslan wouldn't have to sort through the tumult of emotion I tended to send his way when I was overwhelmed or panicking. Reciting prayers by rote would help to organize my thoughts. It would be something to pursue when we returned to Cair Paravel.

_Thank you, Aslan. Thank you, Great Lion, for your grace and blessing. Let me give Peter his sword back, please. That's all I ask. As you love him, as you love Narnia . . . as you love me, Aslan, grant we get safely home._

I was silently crying and I was surprised at how cleansing and liberating it left me. I must have been getting better at it; normally when I cried I felt awful. Now I was just so very worn out. I felt the burn of tears in my eyes and a welcome tightness in my chest as realization and relief overtook me. He was alive. Peter was alive and waiting for us to reach him and he had not given up on me. He would not. He never had. This was my brother, magnificent in more ways than I could list. His faith sustained mine, just as in the past - faith in me, in Aslan, and in his quiet belief that good would come to those that did good.

I prayed it would come to me. Even if it didn't, though, I would not stop until I had my brother back.

A faint sound caught my attention and I looked over to see Peterkins inching closer. He looked at once curious and concerned, his dark ears angled sharply towards me as I stifled my shuddering breaths. He hesitated, then softly asked,

"King Edmund, why are you crying? Wasn't that good news from the Bat?"

I smiled and reached for him, suddenly glad for his presence. Perhaps explaining to him would clarify things for me as well. He approached with caution, and I remembered Athan warning him about the dangers of a naked blade. Praise be to the Lion, something seemed to have sunk into that skull of his.

"It was very good news, Peterkins," I replied. "The very best news I could have hoped for."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm crying because I'm so very, very full. My brother is alive and talking and he has his wits about him and he knows we're coming. He knows we haven't abandoned him."

"But we wouldn't!"

"I know. And he knows that, too. Sometimes, though, it feels better to have proof of things you already know."

That confounded him and he frowned as he puzzled over my statement. "So . . . the High King knows more better now that we're going to save him?" He seemed confused by his own query.

"Yes. And now I know for certain that he's as well as can be. That's what makes me feel so full."

I knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth and I had to fight not to chuckle as he cast me an odd look.

"What are you full of?"

I reached out with my ungloved hand and smoothed his soft fur. "I'm full of hope and happiness, good my Fox, and gratitude to Aslan for guiding us so well." I rose, sheathing the mighty sword and settling the belt around my waist. For a moment I held the grip in my hand, closing my eyes as I willed my exhaustion away and replaced my tears with determination. I thought of Peter waiting for me, confident that he would be saved. Once again, as in the past, his belief in my ability to succeed was all I needed to find the will to triumph. Despite her gross conduct towards me I had beaten Jadis at her own game, and by Aslan, I would do the same to these Ettins. They would pay for bringing a moment's distress upon my brother and High King. I leaned over and Peterkins let me scoop him up into my arms.

"Is it very far to find King Peter?" he immediately asked as I turned and started walking towards the waiting soldiers.

"Not so far as before. Aslan willing, we may even catch up to him today or tomorrow."

"But won't the Ettins be there, too?" was his next nervous question. His voice rose in fear and excitement.

A sigh escaped me as he hit upon one of the stickier points of this expedition. "You can count on it, Master Fox."

"How will we get King Peter away from them? They're so very big and grufull and mean!"

I smirked grimly, wishing the little Fox wasn't quite so right in his assessment of what we were up against and wondering what in the world this word 'grufull' meant. It couldn't be anything pleasant, so it was fitting.

"I'm working on it."


	22. Ways to Hate

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Ways to Hate**

_'As long as either lived,  
he was hateful to the other.' _

_Beowulf_, lines 813 - 814

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I suppose that I must express some form of gratitude towards Valerlan for something that he taught me, though whether it was deliberate or not, I cannot say.

He taught me how to hate.

If I had thought I knew what hate was before being captured by Valerlan I was wrong. During the period of time I spent with the Ettins I realized that hate came in any number of forms. I had always known there were degrees of hatred, but I never there were so many _ways_ to hate.

There was hatred out of ignorance, like a child saying they hated a food they hadn't tried. The Ettins excelled at this, Storr in particular, who despised anything outside his usual routine. It seemed as if they hated everything but themselves and even then I don't believe they were very fond of whom and what they were. They took pride in things I considered perverse and their ignorance was of the incurable sort.

Then there was hatred out of familiarity, the contempt that builds when you lose respect for a being because they have shown their true selves and they are proven to be lacking. Sometimes, as in Valerlan's case, they are aware of their shortcoming before someone whose respect they desire to earn. In other cases, such as Hatta's, he had known Valerlan all his life and expected the crown prince to conform to what he thought an Ettin should be. That Valerlan conducted himself as he saw fit was a source of contempt for the older Ettin. It was hypocritical, for Hatta held the prince to a different standard than he himself lived up to, but no more or less than I grew to expect out of them.

And finally I learned hatred out of understanding. Valerlan and his ilk truly believed that their actions were in the right, that the word of a false queen and tyrant should bear weight and validate Valerlan's claim to Narnia. Living with them - albeit unwillingly - I gained an understanding of my enemy that ran far deeper than their understanding of me. They were uncouth, primitive, filthy, lecherous, sadistic, cowardly creatures that saw nothing wrong with my capture and the slaughter of my guard. They fully expected me to take on the role of a second Etainn, and like Etainn they expected that my role in this farce would be forced upon me. What type of brother could expect and demand such conduct out of his own sister?

I had thought I hated Jadis, but as I trudged behind Valerlan with nothing to do but walk and think and pray for deliverance I began to realize that I didn't know Jadis well enough to hate her. I had seen her twice and spoken to her once. I hated what she had done, hated her conduct and her treatment of Narnia and Aslan and my brother because these things I had seen and heard, but Jadis I couldn't hate because I knew her only through her deeds. Her conduct had been repulsive and I was fairly confident that her character matched, but unlike Edmund I did not know her to judge her and so I could only hate her for what she had done, not who she had been. It sufficed, for my hatred ran deep and in a case like this mine was an unforgiving nature. I suppose it could be said I knew her through her actions and the stories from the Narnians and the Ettins and Edmund, but the Narnians despised her whereas the Ettins had desired her.

I had to make my own judgments. Perhaps it was a flaw in my own character that I harbored such an intense loathing for one being, but when I thought of the fallen at Beruna, of the Stone Table, of a hundred years of endless winter, of slaughter and repression and tyranny, when I thought about the dread in Edmund's eyes when he spoke about Jadis and avoided the most telling details of what she had done to him, I felt justified. When I looked at Valerlan and his ilk, I saw naught but the White Witch's willing disciples, as vile and despicable as their dead mistress.

The Ettins' hatreds fed their fears, fear of the dark and the unknown depths of this vast underground realm. They knew the path through here and nothing else. The whole time we spent in the caverns I heard not one story or song to pass the time for they feared their voices might rouse some wicked spirits of the dead. I could not see how those that were dead could be any worse than those that were quick.

As much as I hated these Ettins for what they had done and what they intended to do, I believe they hated me just as equally. I was alien to them and therefore a threat even though I was a fraction of their size and strength. My intelligence and mannerisms intimidated them. In the case of Valerlan, I made him self-conscious and keenly aware of the difference between being a king and wanting to be a king. The others hated me because Valerlan set such store by my safe delivery and because he was dependant upon me to help return the Ettin race to their glorious past. I was the prince's hope in a world where his subjects were content to have none. He hated me because I could do what he could not and save his people. Valerlan could only aspire to lead them whereas I could restore their greatness.

We moved slower than they would have had I not been there and therefore their supplies were inadequate for the return trip and they held me responsible for the situation. The fact that I had been captured and was victim to their taunts and pranks were not considered when they decided to despise me.

I noticed a marked difference in Valerlan immediately after our last confrontation. While before his treatment of me had been curious and protective (to a point) and he had sought out conversation with me, there was a shift in his attitude. I think he finally realized that I would not change my view of him and I would never regard him as anything better than a murderer, prince though he may be. He also saw that he, Crown Prince Valerlan, could not frighten me. His deeds might upset me, but the man himself was of no consequence to me anymore. That bothered him mightily and he reacted with anger.

Of course Hatta noticed and immediately began to feed on it, indulging himself in pokes and pushes to my back when Valerlan wasn't looking. I think the prince was aware of the abuse, but as long as Hatta didn't go so far as actually to injure me, he did nothing to stop his kinsman. Indeed, Valerlan was more prone than usual to yank on the tether to make me stumble. I think his hold over his followers was slipping and by disregarding Hatta, he disregarded the issue except for those moments when he took out his frustrations on me.

I tried to ignore them, tried to bear myself with dignity, but one prod too many and I lost all patience. We were climbing a rounded slope and I needed all my balance when I felt a thick finger flick my shoulder, almost making me fall. I whirled around and brought the heel of my boot smashing down as hard as I could onto Hatta's exposed toes. I felt something crunch, but be it bone or nail I didn't care. The move was so abrupt, so unexpected that the idiot Giant never saw what was happening until he was howling with pain. Jumping about, he slid down the small slope into Storr and fell over onto his rump. He smacked his head against a pillar of stone, adding embarrassment and insult to injury. Storr, of course, thought this was the most amusing thing he had ever seen and laughed uncontrollably. Haigha, still stumbling about and barely able to see, looked worried as he shuffled along, while Valerlan just turned and watched with detached interest.

"Touch me again, Hatta, and you'll receive far worse!" I snapped, standing my ground. Even seated he was twice my height, looking dangerous and cruel as he held his sandaled foot in both his hands like a child. I glared right at him, daring him to say or do anything.

"You've been warned, cousin!" Valerlan said mockingly. "Haigha, you follow behind the pet king. Hatta, keep up if you can. Storr behind him." He smirked, amused that I had downed his cousin with one blow. Clearly he never thought that something similar could ever befall him, being so much smarter than his fellows.

With a final, defiant glare at the smoldering Hatta I turned away. My expression never changed as I looked at Valerlan. He returned the look coldly, trying to maintain an imperturbable air of control when we both knew he was not the one who commanded the confrontation.

And little did Valerlan suspect that every word, every movement and gesture and expression was being observed by eyes and ears that stayed hidden in the darkness. I knew better and I welcomed the fury I knew the Ettins' conduct would generate.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

Very soon after my brazen clash with Hatta, I began to notice a difference in the air. Though it was still very damp from the endlessly dripping water all about us, it seemed fresher and moved differently, almost like the breeze that had carried off the underground river but without all the noise. I said nothing, but Valerlan noticed me listening at one point and he sneered,

"Your journey is almost at an end, little king."

I stared up at him, thinking of Edmund in all his wrath. "So is yours, Crown Prince Valerlan."

He seemed to sense my meaning and he laughed at the notion that I was threatening him. It seemed to me a rather empty sound and his voice did not echo for so very long.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Eventually the other Palish Giants of our unhappy little party noticed the fresher air and their excitement knew no bounds at the prospect of escaping these dank and seemingly endless caverns. I was far less thrilled because I had no desire to be handed over to Valaner. Moreover, the path became steeper and erratic and I had a great deal of difficulty maneuvering as the rocks became larger and harder to climb. I thought Valerlan might lose all patience and haul me up, but he seemed to derive pleasure out of watching me struggle. My cool attitude towards him had turned him completely against me but I really didn't care. I could tell that he took my distance as haughtiness, which annoyed him. He no longer tried to engage me in intellectual conversations since I tended to shut him down at every turn. Perhaps he was regretting having seized me. I was a direct threat to his authority and my presence had already divided them time and again. He had come too far to kill or release me and certainly Storr and the others could not be relied upon to keep their mouths shut. In sullen silence he endured my hated presence as the enormity of his conduct finally struck him. Perhaps at last he saw the folly of his deeds.

I know he spent a great deal of time concentrating on me rather than our direction and his distraction would cost him both time and authority. At one point we had to backtrack because he had taken the wrong way, leading us straight into a long tunnel that ended abruptly. While it made the others nervous that their prince had made a wrong turn, I silently rejoiced as we took an hour to find the correct path. Every delay meant more time for Edmund to catch up to us.

When we stopped to rest, I was too tired to eat, and to Valerlan's displeasure I just lied down on his pack with my head on my hands and fell asleep almost instantly. We had traveled far and fast and I was exhausted beyond telling. He must have realized he had pushed me too far physically. I roused slightly when I felt myself being lifted, but my body felt so heavy and numb I could not move and I slept on as I had before, carried in a blanket across his back. Briefly I wanted to protest for I had made it a point to slow them down as much as possible while I walked, but my body demanded sleep and I had little choice but to comply.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

How long I slept I cannot say but afterwards I would be grateful for the opportunity to rest. It would be a long time before I had another chance to recover from my exertions.

"Not much further," Valerlan assured his brother as we sat around a small fire and ate the last of the supplies. The bread was moldy and barely edible; the beef and cheese were almost as easy to chew as rocks and about as nutritious. I thought of stewed nettles with unexpected longing. "We'll sleep at Loy tonight."

The others looked up eagerly, hope lighting their tired eyes. They looked unnatural in the fire light, huge and pale and savage.

"Will Aufin be there?" wondered Storr eagerly.

"Of course," Valerlan assured him. "The whole garrison will be there."

_Garrison? What constitutes a garrison for Ettins?_ I wondered, hoping the Bats were paying close attention.

"Shogi and Tal?" Storr exclaimed.

Valerlan wrestled to swallow his mouthful of beef. "And Morphy and Makruk and Fers. All of them, Storr."

_Was_ that all of them? Six more Ettins? Blessed Aslan help us all. How many people did Edmund have with him? How many would it take to confront ten Ettins? I listened intently, careful to give no indication that I was interested in anything other than flicking mold off the hunk of cheese I was trying to eat.

"Xadrez?"

"No, Xadrez returned to Keern, remember?"

"Oh." He was disappointed and pouted in a way that could only have charmed his brother.

Valerlan smiled. "There will be food and wine and beer at Loy. Enough for us all."

I closed my eyes for a moment as Hatta and Haigha made noises of appreciation, horrified anew at the notion of these brutes becoming inebriated. They certainly knew no restraint when they were sober – drunken they would be the very embodiment of wild abandon and misrule. Valerlan couldn't control them now. By the Lion, he could barely control himself! How could he possibly control nine wine-soaked Giants?

I looked upwards, wishing I could see if there really _were_ Bats following us. I had not heard them since the last time we stopped to sleep and I had no idea of how long ago that was. Had I really heard them, or was it the wind? No. I had heard them. Edmund would come. Aslan was with me, had always been with me, would always be with me. I would not doubt again.

"Come!" roared Valerlan, in better spirits than I had ever seen him. He stood up, yanking me to my feet and laughing as I stumbled. "Come, little king, your eager bride awaits you! To Loy we go, then to Keern, and then on to my father's hall in the north!"

The others laughed. I looked up at Valerlan with a frown. He caught my expression and smirked.

"_Now_ what, King Peter?" he demanded.

I shook my head, staring at him, his companions, and I knew, just knew, that as a race the Ettins were doomed. Nothing I could do and nothing I could be made to do would save them. They were too far gone, fallen too far from Aslan's grace, too set upon the path of the damned to ever seek redemption. Serving Jadis had been the beginning of their end, but seizing me for their twisted plans was the catalyst that would speed their fate to certain tragedy. They would pay for their sins, every one of them, starting with the black-haired prince that stood before me in all his primal glory. Perhaps this moment of sight was a gift from Aslan, perhaps simply a realization of the fact that had faced me all along. My hatred of them paled in comparison to their own feelings of self-loathing. They hated themselves so much more than I ever could.

"Your journey is almost at an end, Valerlan," I quoted just loudly enough so that he with his poor hearing could take heed. Why I spoke, I didn't know. It would infuriate him, yet somehow I felt compelled to give answer. A final warning from Aslan, mayhap? If so I was a most willing mouthpiece.

His beady eyes narrowed in consternation as once again I spoiled his humor. The Ettin cocked his head and sneered, baring his teeth as his close-set features twisted in annoyance. He yanked me close by the tether until we were face-to-face. He had to lean far over and I could smell his foul breath and unwashed person. He was hideous in manner and mind and appearance and though repulsed, I was unafraid and unmoved.

"So is yours, little king," he hissed in turn as the others watched in silence.

I slowly shook my head again and said with absolute certainty, "My journey has no end."

His face darkened like a storm cloud. He drew one huge hand back as if to slap me. As with Hatta, I stood my ground, waiting for the blow to fall. If he struck me, he would kill me and we both knew it.

Nothing happened.

Valerlan gradually lowered his hand, staring hard at me. Did he not see how wrong this whole situation was? Did he not see his sister as much a victim of their father as he himself and I was? Did he hear the Lion's voice behind mine?

For a moment I thought there was hope. A glimmer of understanding showed in his eyes. He seemed about to speak and I waited, tensed, as he searched my face, looking for answers to questions he alone could ask.

Then the fleeting moment was gone. Fury replaced his thoughtful expression and he smirked.

"Your journey ends in my father's house, 'King' Peter. _Move!_"

He shoved me before him with so much ferocity that I fell to the stone with a bark of pain. With one huge foot he shoved me along and I staggered upright, struggling to keep apace with his swift, uneven strides as he snatched a burning brand from the fire to light the way. It was feeble illumination at best and his followers struggled to catch up.

There was no longer any hope for his people. In his quest to prove himself worthy, he had destroyed their future and there was nothing anyone could do to change the fate of the Ettin race.


	23. Loy

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Loy**

_'From where he crouched at the king's feet,  
Unferth, a son of Ecglaf's spoke  
contrary words. Beowulf's coming,  
his sea-braving, made him sick with envy:  
he could not brook or abide the fact  
that anyone else alive under heaven  
might enjoy greater regard than he did . . .'_

_Beowulf_, lines 499 - 505

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"_Quickly! To the top of the tower, Your Majesties! Fly! Fly! The enemy is upon you! Fly!"_

_At Oreius' urgent shout Edmund and I set off, tearing up the spiral staircase of the tower with all the speed we could muster. Our armor clanked and the fine mail slapped against our legs as we raced up and up and up. Edmund was a few steps behind and I could hear his breaths get heavier and heavier as breathing became labored. His legs were shorter than mine and even though we both skipped steps he gradually fell behind. _

_I paused, in little better shape than my brother. He tried to wave me on but I shook my head and waited on the next landing for him to reach me, gulping in great lungfuls of the fresh breeze that blew in from the window. We were more than halfway up the tower and already my legs burned with the effort of carrying my weight and the weight of my armor at a dead run. We had been tired when we started and our energy levels were fading rapidly. Still, I would not leave Edmund behind. I reached out and he seized my forearm._

"_G'on," he gasped._

"_Not . . . without you," I panted. I hauled him along by the scruff of his tabard. "Come on!"_

_Edmund struggled for breath and nodded and let me set him by the tower wall as we hurried onwards. The wedge-shaped steps were wider there and easier for him to climb while I took the narrower rout to the inside. We dared not stop until we reached our goal. Higher and higher we climbed, catching glimpses of our progress as we darted past windows and arrow slits in the turret. The gardens below grew more distant with each circuit as we spiraled our way to the top, quick snatches of colors and fresh winds that foretold a blistering hot day ahead of us. Patches of light punctuated the cool shadows and occasional landings offered us a few level steps of reprieve from the constant climb._

"_Not . . . much further," I wheezed. "Little more."_

_Silently my brother nodded, never stopping. We had slowed considerably, unable to do better than a fast walk, sweating and leaden in our armor. My foot slipped on the smooth stone and I fell, catching myself even as Edmund gripped my left arm and steadied me. I cast him a tired smile of thanks and we pressed on, almost crawling now as we dragged ourselves up to the final landing and the ornate Queens's Pavilion at the very top of the highest tower in Cair Paravel. _

"_Raise the knights' banners," called a woman's voice, and there was silvery laughter and caws and growls and barks as two streaming banners, crimson and silver for me, brown and gold for Edmund, were hoisted high, a signal to the waiting general below that we had reached the summit._

_Coughing, gasping, smiling and exhausted, Edmund and I groaned as we collapsed against the cool marble pillars, resting in quiet triumph and enjoying the breeze off the Eastern Sea as we caught our breath. Glad as we were to be still, our bodies ached and we both knew that if we didn't move about and stretch our limbs soon we'd stiffen up so badly we wouldn't be able to budge._

_I grinned in relief as a goblet was held out to me by a small hand. I looked past the golden cup to my littlest sister's smiling face. As always, she and such of her ladies that could climb steep steps were waiting with refreshments and kind words for us as we finished our Sixthday training with a sprint up the tower. Oft times Susan joined her, but Lucy had made it a point to be here without fail ever since Oreius had initiated this particular form of conditioning. _

"_That was much better than last week," she said with a giggle. I took the cup and she brought another to Edmund. Crouching beside him, Lucy observed, "You're very red!"_

_He coughed and huffed, pulling off his armored gloves before downing the contents of the goblet. When he spoke, he sounded only a touch less winded. "You run up the highest tower in the palace from the ground floor and in full armor and we'll see if you turn red, too, old girl." _

_I chuckled and took a drink. Lemonade, not too sweet and wonderfully cool on my throat. Just the thing. One of Lucy's ladies, a pretty little Ocelot with stunning green eyes, brought us a silver basket full of ginger snaps while a dryad refilled our cups. We were happily devouring the sweet biscuits when Odeen, one of the army's Skua messengers, came to a landing beside me. _

"_General Oreius sends his compliments to the Knights of Narnia and bids you enjoy a well-deserved rest," said Odeen in his scratchy voice. "He said he will see you with swords, shields, bows and staves come Firstday morn." _

_Edmund moaned and I sighed, offering Odeen a ginger cookie. Birds cannot smile and so they show their pleasure by fluttering their wings or tails. The Skua rustled his black tail and snapped the treat down in one bite before bowing to us – for now that we were dismissed we were no longer knights but kings again – then he launched back into the air. I looked at Edmund, who finally seemed to be cooling down, and panted,_

"_At least Oreius let us leave our shields and helmets in the armory."_

_Edmund made a pained sound and cast me a hard look with eyes that glittered with mischevious delight. "It's already bad enough. Don't give him any ideas, Peter."_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

I stood at the base of a long, sharply-sloped tunnel that rose before me and headed directly for the surface. Around me the Ettins sighed in relief and appreciation as we viewed a faint, distant light far above us, almost like a star. It was to me sinister in a way as it marked the end of our subterranean passage. I had thought I would be glad to see the sun and sky again but I stared at the light with a quiet panic in my soul. The sky was not the sky above Narnia, but Ettinsmoor, and while I knew the same sun burned overhead, past experience told me that the light that shone down was different from the light in my own kingdom. I reigned in the land that was the seat of Aslan's grace and by comparison all the glories in the world were but pale echoes.

There, under that sky, I was not a king but a captive.

Staring at the steep, boulder-strewn path before me, I thought of all the races Ed and I had run up the turrets of Cair Paravel since we had resumed our training. Oreius had decided one day that we just had too much energy after one of our lessons and he set us to run up the palace's western turret. It wore us out so completely that he made it a weekly ritual. We were getting better and faster and despite our good-natured moans and groans we did enjoy the challenge.

The little point of light looked even further away than the Queen's Pavilion looked from down past the stables at Cair Paravel. I did not want to do this. At least here in the close darkness I had hope. Would it follow me into Ettinsmoor? Would the Bats follow? How deep below the ground were we? I had been unconscious when I was first brought into the caverns beneath Jadis' castle. How deep, how far, how many days were questions that tugged at my tired mind, but really all I cared about was how long it would be until Edmund caught up with us and freed me.

Storr elbowed Haigha with a happy, stupid laugh. Haigha grimaced and forced some enthusiasm. I was beginning to suspect he was injured far worse than any of them realized or cared. He was moving slower and slower and his reactions were far off what they should have been. I remembered the beating Valerlan had given him and I concluded that the damage had been even more severe than it first seemed. I didn't care beyond the hope that he slowed us down, unable to forget that Haigha would have very willingly killed and eaten me a few days past and he had laughed with sadistic pleasure at my fear.

I turned around to find Valerlan watching me as I regarded his latest victim. I saw him glance at Haigha and I think he might have been ashamed but not so much that he tried to do anything about the situation. Instead he tugged on the tether, pulling me about by the lead tied to my wrists and growling at me. Reluctantly, miserably, against every instinct, I began to climb. So loath was I to stand unwillingly on any land that was not Narnia that Valerlan practically had to drag me every step of the way. I prayed desperately to Aslan for something to intervene and hinder our progress. Nothing happened, and so I could only hope that something that awaited us ahead would be the delay I so desperately sought.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

The air became dryer and warmer as we climbed and the light gradually increased until we were in a twilit world of rough stone and dirt. The cave took on a very different appearance from the elegant mineral sculptures behind us in the natural caverns. In the bleak light I could see tangles of roots and compressed earth comprising the path that had been hewn out of the ground. Dwarfs would never be satisfied with such crude work – for even the meanest example of their labor was beautiful - and Moles would consider this unacceptable even for a back door to their burrows.

Storr and Hatta tried to press forward eagerly, anxious to run out of the tight tunnel and into the light, but Valerlan would not let them pass. Clearly he wanted the glory of being the first into Loy for himself. He tugged and yanked me along the trail that gradually morphed from an uneven path to unfinished, irregular steps. They were hard to climb, especially with my hands bound, and Valerlan had little patience for me as I struggled behind him.

Gone was any hint at nobility or manners from the crown prince – being this close to his home he converted to an intelligent version of the brutes around him. It was almost as if he didn't want to risk his fellows letting slip that at any point he had been intrigued by me. I was sure both they and he would consider it a weakness to show me anything but cruelty and contempt and so he made up for lost time. Finally, halfway up the stairs, I tripped on the jagged step and fell. Pain from the half-healed gash on my arm radiated through my whole body. Panting, I lay still for a moment, too battered and tired to go on.A huge hand seized me by the tunic and hauled me upright.

"Get up!" roared Hatta, his breath hot and foul. "Get up, you lazy brat!"

To my absolute surprise it was Haigha and not Valerlan that intervened on my behalf. Laying his hand on Hatta's arm, the sorely beaten Ettin shook his head, a living, breathing warning of what lay in store for Hatta if he did not control himself where I was concerned. For a moment it seemed as if Hatta would argue, then he thrust me back to the ground and turned away, not looking at Valerlan as he hurried out of the prince's range. I lay where I had fallen, coughing at the dust and damp before I laboriously gained my feet once again. I looked up at Valerlan, waiting for him to make a decision.

He stared at me in displeasure, but even he had to see that their chosen route was exceptionally difficult for anyone my size, bound hands or otherwise. Even now he placed no trust in his brother and cousin and he scooped me up in his hold, roughly tossing me over his shoulder. I gasped, trying to catch my breath but at the same time not smell anything as I entered Ettinsmoor the same way I had left Narnia – by brute force.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

The light increased, the air became dusty and smelt of grass, and the Giants smiled in pleasure as we neared the end of the passage. Valerlan leaned over and dropped me heavily to the floor of the cave. I staggered to keep my footing and he yanked on the tether to keep me from falling. It might have been kinder if he had just let me hit the ground. He twisted the lead around and around his hand, keeping me close to his side. Then with a self-satisfied smile at his brother he let out a shout.

"Loy! Garrison at Loy! Aufins! Makruk! Tal! Make ready to welcome your princes!"

The others laughed in appreciation and elbowed each other as the bellow echoed, faintly answered by a distant voice. I shuddered, my heart sinking. More Ettins. Lion save me.

The path had smoothed out and I could finally see the entrance to the caverns. This part of the tunnel was low and tight, formed not of stone but of hard-packed earth that was eroded in spots by rain. Even Valerlan, the smallest Ettin in the party, had to stoop. He shambled along with his uneven gait and kept me tight beside him. I had no idea of what to expect, but if he couldn't trust his brother and cousin with my safety then the garrisoned Ettins waiting for us must be absolutely uncontrollable.

There were shadowy figures just beyond the cave's jagged mouth. Valerlan moved faster so that I had to trot to keep apace. I did not want to step foot out there. I did not want –

Deafening shouts erupted around us and the light, while not bright, dazzled my eyes so that for a moment I could not see. I hesitated, buffeted about by the huge forms as the two herds of Ettins merged into one loud, chaotic group. My vision cleared and I finally saw the troop garrisoned at Loy. The best I could say for them was that they met all my expectations and they were as uncouth and unwashed as my own escort. They greeted the Giants of Valerlan's party with hearty slaps and cries of recognition and almost instantly huge skins of wine were produced and passed around. I watched in trepidation, uneasy to have to rely upon Valerlan for my safety be he drunk or sober.

"Where are Zoozo and Tondra and Etun? Where is Moori? Why are you so late?" called the soldiers, all of them excited and talking at once. I studied them as best I could. There were six in all and a very unimpressive lot they were. "The king, your father, has sent messages. Lady Noona demands to know why you haven't returned. Where are the others? What word from the Queen? How fares the winter or is it really gone?"

Valerlan drew a breath to make his reply when one of the garrison – a huge, overweight fellow in crude leather armor and an ill-fitting helmet – noticed me. He paused, shocked, and the emotion spread as the others looked to find the source of his astonishment. Silence fell as the Palish Giants realized what I was and whom they thought I must be.

I stood straight and looked right back, refusing to be intimidated even though my instincts were screaming at me to hide somewhere very far removed from here.

Behind me an awed voice softly asked, "Is this . . . ?"

"My father's prize," Valerlan informed them, pride in his tone as if he'd single-handedly fought off an army to lay hold of me. He tugged on the tether binding me to him as if he felt the need to display his power over me by jerking me about. "This is Jadis' blood heir."

There were sounds of admiration and I heard the words 'Human' and 'Etainn' muttered. The fat Ettin leaned far over for a closer look at me.

"So small," he commented. "Is it done growing?"

"Who knows?" Valerlan replied scornfully. "Only my sister will care, anyway."

For a moment they gaped at him then the Ettins caught on and started howling with laughter at what was being implied. It was evident that innuendo was high humor for them and I had the feeling the abuse was just starting.

"Come!" shouted Valerlan. "Come! I'll tell you the tale over food and wine!"

Instantly distracted, the Ettins eagerly began leading the way and I finally had an opportunity to look at my surroundings. Behind me was a low hill with a stone face that housed the entrance to the caverns. Not far away stood a keep made of dark stone that had fallen into disrepair casting a long shadow in the afternoon sunlight. It was not very large by Giant standards but clearly once upon a time it had been beautiful. The windows were narrow and the walls were crumbling away in places. Long grass replaced the dirt floors and I could tell even from a distance that several of the roofs had collapsed. I thought of Cair Paravel in all its ancient splendor. There was no comparison. Loy Keep seemed to symbolize the Ettins themselves: once mighty, now fallen into corruption so deep that it was beyond repair.

Valerlan held me back as the others headed through the tall grass. Once again he gave me a look that seemed to say he wanted something from me. As it turned out, what he wanted was silence and compliance.

"Say nothing to them," he snapped. "_I_ will do the talking."

I frowned, resisting the urge to snort, well aware that the story he was going to impart would not necessarily have any resemblance to the truth of the matter. I shook his hand off my arm with a shrug.

"What do I care what lies you tell your people?" I demanded. "Think you they would set greater store by the tale coming from my lips?" I realized then that I had hit a little too close to the truth of the matter for his taste.

"I would denounce you as a liar," he hissed, instantly furious. His dark brow furrowed and his teeth were bared.

"Which _you_ know I am not," I replied, realizing the quandary in which he found himself entangled. It was of his own making and I was not about to promise anything to ease his dilemma. I shook my head. "It was madness to seize me from the first."

"So I have learned," he muttered, "but I am an obedient son."

"So you keep saying. Whom are you trying to convince?"

He glowered, reminding me of Edmund for a moment, then pulled on the tether. "Be silent, say nothing, and come along to Loy, little king."


	24. Reverse, Regroup, Reflect

My thanks to Miniver for her assistance with this chapter! The phrase 'Sweet Lion!' is purlioned (with permission) from Almyra's wonderful stories.

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Reverse, Regroup, Reflect**

_'When wind blows up and stormy weather  
makes clouds scud and the skies weep,  
out of the depths a dirty surge  
is pitched towards the heavens. Now help depends  
again on you and on you alone.  
The gap of danger where the demon waits  
is still unknown to you. Seek it if you dare.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 1373 - 1379

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Damn!"

I couldn't stop the muttered oath from escaping my lips. In truth I wanted to stomp about and wave my arms and express my fury and disappointment in terms both long, loud, and in language too indelicate for a king to use, but that wasn't quite an option. I had a massive Bat dame hanging from my forearm, a Ring-Tailed Lemur wrapped around my neck, and a Fox kit barely six months old sitting on my feet listening to every word that was said. So instead of cursing I had to be content with silently fuming and making stern faces at the rocks as it occurred to me that I was being used as little more than an elaborate perch.

Surrounded as I was by ladies, I normally would have tendered an apology (indeed, if Susan had been present I would not have dared curse at all). Two of them were in the army and Pa'ala may as well have been at this point and they were all made of stern enough stuff that they could endure the occasional fit of blaspheme and show of royal surliness. I was fairly certain that I voiced the sentiment of every adult present. Kanell stamped one mighty hoof and growled deep in his throat and Xati let out a long, slow breath as she controlled her formidable temper. I just stood still and wished for some object I could conveniently break to pieces against the wall so as to express the emotion I felt at the moment.

The news was not good.

The Bats had provided us with extremely detailed reports of the Palish Giants holding Peter. We were now in a one-sided acquaintance with the intelligent and crude Ettin crown prince, his idiot older brother, their vicious and cruel cousin, and the frightened and cowardly guardsman. I had been equally delighted and apprehensive to hear about Peter felling Hatta - only my brother would have the nerve to square off against a Giant. That was the second time he'd borrowed my favorite close combat attack to cut down a deadly enemy. He was learning, though I hoped his patience was not tried much further. Peter had his limits as to what he would tolerate and endure and when those limits were reached . . . things happened, like sadistic Giants being felled with one blow.

I prayed to Aslan that he would not regret his impulsive move.

Unfortunately Peter was also exhausted and the Ettin prince, Valerlan, had carried him for a good distance. That allowed the Ettins to move much faster than we could hope to even though Kanell had sent Barin, Brant, Flinder, Athan, and any number of Bats well ahead to scout out and mark the easiest route. The Bats made all the difference, being able to pinpoint the dead ends and quickly explore passages too small for the Ettins to squeeze through. There were many possible paths through these caverns as it turned out, but up until this point we had not dared to risk finding a better way lest we become disoriented and wander about in the darkness.

Now dear Pa'ala had told me the worst bit of news possible: the Ettins, after a wrong turn that delayed and alarmed them, had reached the last stage of their journey and were almost upon the exit from these caverns. I was filled with a sickening apprehension.

"You're absolutely certain?" I demanded.

The Flying Fox nodded. "I am certain, my king. Their prince spoke of reaching a place called Loy Keep by tonight. He named six other Ettins waiting there as a garrison and there is another keep, Keern, somewhere close by. He intends to spend the night at Loy before bringing your brother to Keern and thence north to his father's presence."

"How far behind them are we?"

"Three hours," she replied.

"Thre-"

I broke off, furious and frustrated and checked once again. I wanted to stamp and curse. I had to settle for a few deep breaths and a desperate look at Kanell. By his expression I could tell his reaction was similar in tone and quality to mine. So much for all my careful plans of waylaying the Ettins here in the caverns. There was no way we could catch up to them at this rate. We were too tired and they were too large and fast. I pursed my lips as I resolved myself to the situation. Well. I would just have to come up with another plan of attack. Outside the caverns. Against a total of ten Ettins.

Seventeen of us against ten of them. Eighteen if Peter was in any condition to fight. Great Aslan have mercy.

I looked at Pa'ala. "Every detail," I said. "I want every detail of the land, this Loy Keep and the Ettins garrisoned there. Everything. No point is too small or unimportant."

"I have already sent the strongest of us ahead, King Edmund."

My shoulders sagged in gratitude. "Good my lady, you are most wise."

Gently this mother and matriarch smiled, reaching up one massive wing to wrap her delicate little fingers around my thumb in a gesture at once comforting and reassuring. "As you are unbowed and dauntless, Just King. Help me aloft and I shall join the scouts."

"Aslan be with you, Pa'ala."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"They're out?"

The little Bat, Blits by name, exhausted by his long flight, nodded gravely from where he had landed on one of the Satyrs, hanging upside down at the highest arc of his horn.

"Your brother the High King had a difficult time of it, Sire, for the Ettins chose a path easy for them. There are gentler paths, Pa'ala thinks Prince Valerlan was being spiteful. They met up with the garrison and the new Ettins were amazed to see King Peter amongst them." He shook his head. "They are sorely ignorant of Sons of Adam."

"La," I agreed grimly. "What else?"

"Loy Keep lies scarce a quarter mile from the exit to the caves. It is in ruins, Majesty. The last I heard your brother was brought there and is being guarded by the one called Hatta."

"Blast," I muttered. I had a score to settle with that miserable Giant. "Stop moving, Nex." I nudged the Satyr.

"What of the Ettins?" pressed Kanell, dropping his hand to my shoulder.

With a rustle of wings Blits carefully made an answer. "They are indulging in wine. Over indulging, in fact."

My first impulse was to curse again, but then it occurred to me that drunken Giants were clumsy, stupid, stumbling Giants. I had seen them get drunk at the anniversary of Beruna, that awful night in the month of Sunbend when Jadis' curse had made my life so interesting and Peter had traveled into the Western Wild to save me. Once they were well into their cups, Giants were essentially useless, more so than most Magical Creatures.

"Pray Aslan they don't run out any time soon or do violence to my brother for sport," I replied, looking at the Centaur captain. Kanell smiled, knowing full well what I was thinking. "How long before we reach the exit, good cousin?"

"An hour to the last tunnel, less than an hour up it to the surface. Athan's party is almost there, King Edmund," said Blits. "They have marked the swiftest route and will await you."

"Lean back, Nex," I ordered, reaching up for the Bat with both hands. He crawled into my palms and with a jerk of my head I ordered my little troop to keep moving. Gicelus had to rouse Shikov, for the Boar was happily asleep on his feet 'neath his blanket of Bats. Xati carried the sleeping Peterkins in the crook of her arm, unconsciously petting him as she fell in on my left. Kanell, as ever, was upon my right.

"Get me someone fresh," I ordered, and Pauton caught up to the Boar to find a rested Bat. "Blits, any word on the layout of the keep?"

"Athan is even now amassing information from the scouts. It is not so easy for us, Sire, for the sun is high on the surface and we shun the daylight. Further, King Edmund, we measure with our ears, not our eyes, and so Athan and Brant are busy translating what we tell them into something useful."

"I understand," I replied softly, and truly I did. Athan was thoroughly reliable and would forward a report as soon as he could. Pauton returned a few moments later with no less than three Bats hanging from his forearm. One of them was Perterkins' friend the Ghost Bat.

"Dear cousins, if you would fly ahead to the forward party with my compliments, tell Flinder that if he's so inclined to take a walk in the sunlight his king would be most grateful to know the lay of the land we are about to invade."

They chuckled, their spirits high, and all three bowed before darting off into the darkness. I watched them go, wondering that this sunless world had become so commonplace to me that I didn't even notice its beauty anymore. Once I left here I never wanted to see it again and I was already resolved to see the caverns beneath Jadis' castle sealed off completely. The Dwarfs would whine but there were other caverns beneath Narnia for them to explore. I did not want another Ettin entering my country by this route ever again.

"Have you anything more to report?" I asked, holding the courier up to eye level.

"That is all, King Edmund."

"Go with Pauton, then," I said, surrendering the Bat to the Red Dwarf's gentle hold. "Rest. You have my thanks, Blits."

I paused, looking around as I took my small Dwarfish lantern back from Kanell. How long had we been down here? How long since we had seen sunlight or dunk water that was fresh and not tangy with minerals? When had I last heard silence and not the constant fall of rain as the earth around me wept endless tears? How many days had passed since I last thought of Lake Asher or Phillip or arguing with Mr. Beaver? When had I last seen Susan and Lucy? It seemed a lifetime or more, so single-minded had I been since that terrible morning at Beaversdam. There had been so many terrible moments since then that I had to fight the desire to dwell on what couldn't be changed. Was this what it was like to be at war? Was this what my father felt? Was he as tired and determined as I?

"Majesty?" Kanell asked, his voice soft and edged with concern. "Edmund?"

"I was just lost in thought," was my reply and I was not inclined to elaborate. I resumed walking, gesturing Xati a little closer. "Let's review what we know, Captain, Lieutenant. We need a plan of attack with as many options as we can devise. If Peter can down a Giant with one kick, just think of what we might do."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Sweet Lion!"

I stared up the sharp, boulder-strewn incline to the faint speck of light far away and high above where I stood with all of the archers. Our lanterns, starved for fuel by now, barely illuminated the huge steps rudely shaped from the earth and stones. Even Ettins would have trouble traversing this rise and Valerlan had forced Peter to climb up here with bound hands? I hated the prince more each passing moment. One of the Dwarfs, an older fellow named Onela, shook his head in disgust at the slapdash workmanship on display before him.

"They work against our mother, not with her," he muttered. "To see her bones so broken and scattered . . . it pains one's heart, Your Majesty."

"They have no room in their hearts for _Revinim_, good cuz," I answered, nodding. "I don't think they see the land as a thing to be treasured. They don't know what wealth and glory entail. They just see the trappings."

"I believe Your Majesty has hit upon their greatest flaw," agreed Onela.

"Second greatest," I corrected. "Their greatest flaw was thinking they could enter Narnia and do violence to our king undisputed."

He smiled, grunting in agreement. We looked up as Brant, escorted by a handful of Bats, came down the slope along the lefthand side of the tunnel amidst a small stream of loose pebbles and dirt. He gave me a cheeky smile as he took in our tired, bedraggled little group and said,

"King Edmund! Athan has worked out the layout of the keep. The Ettins have stopped for the night and are growing tighter in their wine each moment that passes. And Sire! We found Nancy!"

I stamped my foot, my temper flaring. "Stop calling him that!"

But it worked - I was smiling.


	25. Borderland

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Borderland**

_' . . . earth's lap grew lovely, longing woke  
in cooped-up exile for a voyage home -  
but more for vengeance . . .'_

_Beowulf, _lines 1138 - 1140

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

We climbed. And climbed. And climbed some more. We followed a steep path off to the side of the main chamber, sometimes switching to the opposite wall, sometimes forced to take the difficult middle route, but I knew the path that Brant lead us on was far kinder than the one Peter had taken. The light increased, the air grew warmer, Peterkins kept asking if we had arrived and was told to shush numerous times, and finally we reached a rough tunnel that was not a chamber at all, just a burrowed-out entrance to the caverns. I glanced at the Dwarfs and just as I expected, they were all wearing expressions of profound disgust. Even the least of their mines had more style than this hole. Deep ruts had formed in the floor from ages of rain washing down, but the going was far easier - indeed, the last half-mile or so was the easiest of this whole journey. How far had we walked?

Pa'ala Mivven came sweeping down towards us, her wingspan so wide that she momentarily blocked out the light above. I turned so that she could land on my shoulders, rousing Pandicat at the same time. The Lemur was riding in my nearly empty pack now, wrapped in my blanket, and with a little trill she climbed down my arm so that I could talk with the Flying Fox. Kanell and Xati, bringing up the rear behind the archers, joined me.

"Your scouts have obeyed, King Edmund" Pa'ala reported as soon as the Centaurs were close. "Loy Keep's layout is known, as are the Ettins. Athan and Flinder await you at the mouth of the cave."

More and more Bats were darting about in excitement. I found myself blinking as the light increased to the point where we could extinguish our lanterns. I could see the end of the tunnel clearly, see Athan's dark, hulking form and the slighter shape of Flinder beside him, see a jagged slice of sunlight that threatened to dazzle my eyes. I hurried ahead to join them.

"What word?" I asked anxiously.

The soldiers bowed deeply, Barin less so, but he was playing perch to dozens of Bats and would have dislodged them if he bent very far. On the ground at their feet Athan had carefully sketched a very detailed diagram of the keep and surrounding lands into the hard-packed earth with a sharp bit of broken stone. I crouched down for a better look. The building was shaped like an 'L' with only a dozen or so rooms, though several of them seemed vast.

"Well done, good my cousins," I said, awed but not surprised. "This is to scale?"

The Gorilla smiled at my expectant expression. "It is, King Edmund. Master Fox, no further! Your tail alone would erase hours of work!" Just out of reach, he pointed sharply at Peterkins, who in his curiosity looked about to trample the picture. I remembered most Foxes tended to be nearsighted and have to be on top of things in order to see them well, but before he could take another step Kanell scooped him up and handed him off to Gicelus.

"We're here, Peter Fox, so be silent for the love of Aslan! Proceed, Athan," ordered the Captain of Cair Paravel's Guard.

"The main entrance is here," Athan immediately continued, indicating each location as he spoke. "This is the guardroom with a small courtyard over here, barracks, meeting hall, and sundry other rooms that are unconnected and have only one door. This wall and this wall have collapsed and this hall here," he pointed to the meeting room, "is the only one that has a roof. The floor and roof are stone and the roof is held up by many pillars.

"Inside the keep the ground is all overgrown with grass except for the pillared hall. The Ettins are here, in the guardroom, where they have a summer kitchen of sorts set up. King Peter is being held in the small courtyard, guarded by but one Ettin, that brute Hatta. There are pillars on a porch behind the courtyard here and here," he indicated two walls of the square, "and one of the collapsed walls is over here, just a room away from the courtyard."

"What about the surrounding land?" I asked, staring at the diagram.

"Flat and expressionless," Flinder responded instantly. "Tall grass, no hills in the immediate area save for the ones housing this cave. I could not smell water or a forest or anything of interest. I saw few birds and fewer creatures."

"Any idea how far we are from Narnia?"

The Gorilla smiled. "I will need more stars to steer by, good my king, though by grace of Dame Utha I should be able to tell you by tonight. The presence of keeps in the area tells me we're closer to the border of Ettinsmoor than not."

I smiled faintly. He was far ahead of me in the mathematics of navigation and triangulation. "Have you any notion of how long we've been following the Ettins?"

Flinder purred. "If I may, Highness, with this sunset it will have been a sennight since we left Narnia. The moon waxes almost full and is in the east even now."

Seven nights. Seven endless nights. A week of pure hell. It felt much, much longer. It _had_ been longer for Peter. Longer, harder, lonelier. At least I had not been alone throughout this ordeal as he had been. I was surrounded by loyal friends, not enemies.

I felt my jaw clench. Peter's captivity ended tonight. By the Lion, my brother and Narnia's High King would not endure another night in the clutches of those vile fiends. I would not tolerate another day of this affront to my country and my person. As to the affront to my brother . . . I would see justice done. Valerlan wanted the Blood Heir? The Ettin was going to learn that wanting something and getting it were two very different matters, and not necessarily pleasant things, either. It was evident he had never been told to be careful of what he wished for, lest his wish be granted.

I stood up, needing to set my eyes upon this wicked place for myself. I needed to know what we were up against and how far it was to reach my only brother.

"Majesty?" asked Brant.

"Wait a moment, sirs. I want to see."

"See?" wondered Athan.

"Loy," I replied, not about to be deterred. "Now."

They hesitated but would not refuse, nervous that I might be spotted even though we knew the Ettins were holed up within their castle. Flinder rose from off his haunches and said,

"Stay close by me, Majesty. I will show you."

"Hand on your sword, Edmund How!" ordered Kanell sharply. I dutifully reached across my body and seized Rhindon's grip with my right hand, ready to draw the sword at a moment's notice.

Bats darted in and out of the cave before us, some bringing reports, others heading out to scout some more. They made it a point to brush past me, grazing my clothes and hair in silent greeting. I smiled, knowing they were showing off for me and for each other because it was a display of some very tricky flying. Not a one actually hit me, though I did lose a few hairs from atop my head to their clawed feet.

"Crouch down, King Edmund, lest Kanell be tempted to make new winter mitts from my hide," bade the Bobcat.

I obeyed, inclined to agree, and ducked low. We moved towards the entrance of the cave and hid ourselves behind trailing roots and stones in order to view the plain before us.

It was as dull and uninteresting a place as Flinder had promised it to be. Was all of Ettinsmoor so bland? Long green grass glinted in the light of late afternoon, rippling in the breeze. The last time I had felt the wind and seen the sun, he had gone a'hunting. Now . . . I frowned in surprise. Perhaps it was my eyes, used as they were to the darkness, but the colors here seemed diminished and the air was not nearly as sweet as what I was used to in Narnia. It was even worse than the way I had seen Narnia that first year of our reign, when Jadis' blood was still alive within me. I realized that this was the first time since we had stumbled out of the Wardrobe and into the Lantern Waste that I had stepped foot out of my kingdom. This land was alive but it was not blessed by Aslan's grace and the difference was remarkable. I finally understood what Peter meant when he said that the world beyond Narnia pales in comparison. He had claimed the most beautiful setting in the Western Wild was not in any way equal to the meanest patch of Narnia and he had been absolutely right.

He had willingly left Narnia in order to save me last year. I would do no less for him.

I glanced around, immediately spotting Loy Keep. It was dark and jagged against the horizon, isolated and ignored. The size of it surprised me, but I had never seen a Giantish building before and the scale was massive. Why, it was as large a cathedral and this was a minor keep for just a handful of guards! Guards from the smallest breed of Giants, no less! Still, it looked worn and used up, as if it held together only out of habit.

"Come back, my king," whispered Flinder so closely that his stiff whiskers tickled my ear. "There is more you should know."

I cast Loy one final, assessing look before I withdrew. Rejoining our little troop, Athan again addressed us all, reviewing the information gathered over the past day as the soldiers and Bats ranged themselves about the cave.

"There are ten Ettins in total," said the Gorilla, his deep voice clearly audible even though he kept his volume low. "What we know of them we have gleaned through their conversation and conduct. Crown Prince Valerlan moves with a noticeable limp and based on what reports have said I believe it is a defect of birth and not a wound. He has long dark hair and wears a rough brown tunic. He is clever, ruthless, and cruel, but he feels bound by orders to carry our High King to his father, King Valaner. He has defended King Peter against his fellows. He is our most dangerous opponent, armed with a club and a knife.

"Hatta is his cousin. He is second to Valerlan in terms of danger and intelligence, but he is far more savage. He has shorter, lighter hair shot with gray and is taller than Valerlan by two feet and more. He wears a black vest and tan leggings and sandals, and he is armed with a club.

"Storr is, on top of being a half-wit, well into his cups and at this time can barely walk. Even sober he is less of a threat than his brother Valerlan and he seems easily frightened. He has dark hair like Valerlan's and wears a rust-red vest. He is armed with a short club and a knife."

We stared at Athan as he spoke, committing these details to memory.

"Scouts have reported that the guardsman, Haigha, is increasingly weak and slow. He has barely eaten but has drunk too much wine and is ailing. I believe he is the least of our opponents, but he is not to be underestimated. He wears all brown and his hair is long and tied in a braid. He carries a club but does not look capable of wielding it."

"There are six guards stationed here. They dress alike and are much alike in ability and intelligence – in a word, limited. They are armed with clubs, knives, and short swords which they do not seem very capable of using effectively. Three of them are old and fat. They are clumsy, lazy, and complacent in their own home, more concerned with their next meal than security here in the borderland."

"Has their intent changed?" Xati asked. "Do they still mean to go to this Keern Keep on the morrow?"

"Yes."

Another Flying Fox, his fuzzy golden head a lighter shade than Pa'ala's, quietly pressed, "Do they guess they have been followed? Have the scouts given any hint that they know we're here?"

"None," Athan replied firmly.

I stared at the diagram, listening to them talk. If we could get to Peter . . . the Ettins had to sleep sometime . . .

"Is Hatta drunk?" I queried.

Athan grimaced. "No."

Blast. Impared by wine, he would have been so much easier to deal with. I grimaced in disappointment, returning to my study.

"Valerlan threatened Hatta and his family if anything should happened to the High King," a tiny voice said from behind me. I turned to look at a Pipistrelle Bat so small that she would have fit in my palm with room to spare. I reached out and she crawled onto my glove, a little ball of brown fuzz. She weighed next to nothing and if I hadn't seen her in my hand I would not have believed anything alive and intelligent could be so light.

"What is your name, lady?"

"Flitterwink, Your Majesty," she replied.

"You heard Valerlan say this?"

"I did, King Edmund. Valerlan calls your brother his prisoner yet he passed responsibility for his safety on to the one that hates him most."

"I wonder if he regrets his prize," murmured Kanell. His tone was dangerous and dark. I considered his words and tone because the notion that Valerlan might have found himself in a bind over his own conduct had not occurred to me. The crown prince was Peter's best, only defense. If he lost that protection before we could free him . . . I did not want to consider the ramifications.

As if he was reading my thoughts Kanell demanded, "How has Valerlan conducted himself amongst his own kind?"

"With unwarranted arrogance and swagger," Brant said. I was pleased to hear offense on behalf of the High King in his gruff voice. "He is showing away and tries to outdo and impress his fellows. Some of the scouts -"

A Big-Eared Bat came darting in, banking up sharply to land right on Athan's head. Breathlessly he exclaimed,

"Valerlan has said as soon as the guardsman Aufins is done with his meal he is to proceed to Keern Keep and bring back with him a dozen more Ettins soldiers as an honor guard for their princes and to ensure the safety of King Peter! He is expected to return before dawn!"

It spilled out all in a rush, every word chilling me more and more. I felt a tightness grip my chest, the same despair I had felt when I first laid eyes upon Jadis' vast army on the plain of Beruna. A dozen Ettins beyond the ones we faced already? Sweet Lion . . .

It seemed as if everyone started talking at once.

Demanded Kanell, "How long until Aufins leaves?"

"They have yet to sit to their meal," assured the Big-Eared Bat.

"He'll be one less to deal with if we wait until he's well away to act," Xati reasoned.

The captain's dark eyes narrowed sharply. "He won't get away."

"There's more bad Giants coming?" exclaimed Peterkins in shrill, childish tones, poised to panic.

"Hush!" Pandicat soothed. "Not yet, Master Fox."

"Not ever," growled Flinder, flexing his huge paws to display his claws.

I think that I alone was silent as I turned this bit of news over in my head. Though not very loud the sound of Bats' voices was deafening and confusing in its own strange way. It was as if there was more to their voices than what we heard and I saw the Talking Animals of our troop flinch as the Bats grew agitated.

I looked down at tiny Flitterwink, whose name was bigger than she was. "Lady," I whispered, "do you think you could reach my brother without being seen?"

She nodded, eager to prove herself. "I could, Majesty. I am small and swift. Command me!"

I clasped her close and warm to my breast as I raised my free hand for silence. All eyes were upon me and I took a moment to think, staring at the sketch carved into the ground before me. When I spoke my voice sounded hollow to my own ears.

"How many Bats have we?"


	26. The World Turned Upside Down

**Chapter Twenty-Six: _The World Turned Upside Down_**

Extra points to the person who can tell me where the title came from.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_'. . . (the) High King of the World  
was unknown to them.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 182 - 183

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

Looking back at the week I spent with the Ettins, I believe I can say with authority that I know what Hell is like.

I was tugged and dragged along through a rounded archway as large as the main doors of Cair Paravel but nowhere near as grand. The wooden doors had rotted away, leaving rusted hinges in place that reminded me of broken teeth. It was like entering into the maw of some beast that housed a fire in its belly. The sunlight was blocked by the heavy walls and the sky was darkening overhead, but a large fire built in one of the rooms shed an uneven light and made the place stink of smoke. The grass was just as thick inside the keep as outside, at least where it hadn't been trampled by huge, careless feet.

The Ettins were in high spirits and Valerlan tried his best to imitate them. I suspected he was merely trying to fool himself and perhaps me as well. We followed the older Ettin into a hall, the roof of which was long gone. Meats were cooking over the open fire. One of the soldiers hastily turned the spits to keep the food from charring amidst laughter from his fellows.

The first order of business for the Ettins was wine. Storr was already drinking and I suspected it was something he enjoyed too often and too deeply. I saw one of the guards give a skin to Haigha but he didn't seem capable of lifting the heavy sack. He dug in his pack for the cup that had been the source of his woes. I suspected his wounds were slowly doing him in, and the wine would only speed the process along. I caught a whiff of the dark red wine as Valerlan took a grateful swig. It smelled grossly sweet and poorly made.

Amidst encouraging shouts and cheers from his men, Valerlan took another long draught from the wineskin, gasping with pleasure and wiping his mouth when he was done. He smirked at me as if daring me to respond. Did he want me to fear him or show disapproval for their loud and bawdy revelry? In truth I did both but I was not about to express the least emotion before him and this crowd of brutes. They were shouting and boisterous and crude, reeking of sweat, wine, and smoke. They could not have been further away from what I was used to from my subjects if they had been on the moon.

The Ettin guards leaned close to me, hungry and leering and lecherous. I had seen that look before in Hatta's eyes, before Valerlan had beaten him flat. Storr brought up the topic of Deama, and they amused themselves by conjecturing how long I would survive the Giantess' affections. I felt a little sad for the absent, sky-eyed princess, to be spoken of this manner by her own brother. The crowd of hard-drinking Giants roared with laughter as they mocked me and made rude comments. They were already awful enough sober, I had no idea of how low they would stoop once they got drunk. I wasn't looking forward to finding out. One of the Ettin guards reached towards me. I slapped his grasping fingers away with both hands, glaring him down. My sharp blow could not have done any harm but it did startle him. An amused laugh rose from the throats of the others who were gathered about and watching their fellow, rising in a crescendo as if daring the guard to try again. He scowled and lunged, only to be snatched back by Valerlan's hand on his collar. The crown prince dumped the Ettin to the ground and planted one huge foot on his chest, pressing down and pinning him to the ground.

"He is _my_ prisoner," Valerlan stressed to the guards, his expression dark and his voice deep, "and my father's prize. He is not to be harmed in any way. Ask Haigha if you have any doubts. Hatta!"

My nemesis turned from his wine with a disinterested grunt.

"Guard the prisoner. If any harm befalls him, I'll kill you and exile your son. If anyone here attempts to harm that Son of Adam, you'll share Hatta's fate."

There was a moment of frightened silence as they realized Valerlan was absolutely serious and perfectly willing to carry out his threat. I just found it interesting that I had gone from being a captive to a prisoner.

"When we are done feasting, Aufins, hie thee to my lady's home in Keern Keep. Tell her father, Lord Daichoe, that I require an escort of a dozen of his finest soldiers. I would not appear as a pauper before my betrothed, and my father's prize must be well protected."

The old Ettin smiled slowly in approval. "I will return well before dawn, Prince Valerlan," he promised. "Lady Noona will be most pleased!"

"Hold him over in the courtyard," ordered Valerlan, handing off my lead to Hatta. He glared at me. "Make no attempt to escape, little king. My mercy has its limits."

It was an empty threat, said for the benefit of his fellows. He would not harm me after having suffered so much to bring me here, but I did not want to press my luck with so much wine and a volatile temper.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

I was herded into a small court just off the area where the Palish Giants had congregated for their meal. There were pillars supporting the remains of a covered walk on two sides and the central space was open to the sky. I suppose once upon a time it must have been a pleasant place to sit and relax. I wouldn't know. All I could do was sit. The walls on three sides were quite high, too high for me to climb with bound hands, and instead of a fourth wall I had Hatta to look at.

He managed to keep a steady glare aimed at me but at least he didn't try to jerk me about by the trailing leash. The souvenirs of his beating at Valerlan's hands were clearly evident now that we were outside the caverns – bruises and abrasions and a chunk of hair torn out. I had no doubt he would have gladly killed me on the spot if he hadn't been so afraid of the crown prince.

Behind him, the guards and Storr broke into a vulgar song, still childishly fixated on the fate that lay in store for me in his sister's chamber. I shook my head. They were miserable, perverse creatures and I could understand Valerlan's disgust and frustration with them. They had no desire to better themselves, being perfectly content in their hedonistic ignorance. I tried not to dwell on the implications hinted at in the song, but it was very difficult to direct my attention elsewhere. Finally I found my thoughts turning to my brother. I didn't think of the wrath I hoped and prayed was coming, but rather I thought upon the time he had spent as Jadis' prisoner. He never spoke of it, not really, and perhaps he should have. She had been more than cruel, more than abusive. I knew she had forced him to do things he simply was not ready to do or understand. I had realized this long ago even if he hadn't. Some day he would have to face that pain. Would I share that sad fate? Would the anguish and confusion that plagued Edmund's subconscious mind be mine to endure as well? Would it be different for me since I would be aware of what was happening to me?

Aslan willing I would never find out.

Sex, sexuality, and procreation were not taboo subjects in Narnia. They were a part of life and living, things to be enjoyed as much as music and wine and company. They were not taken lightly, though, because of the complexities and complications that could result, but they were not hidden or looked upon askance. At first I had been astonished (and a trifle embarrassed) at this open attitude and I had mentioned as much to Minovin, Cair Paravel's court recorder, who happened to be with me in the library when I had stumbled across a book of love poems that made me blush. The elderly Centaur mare had smiled knowingly, her dark eyes glittering with gentle amusement and understanding as she said, "Children have to come from somewhere, High King."

Before my father left for the army he had sat me down for a good, long talk on a topic which I think was as hard for him to broach as it was for me to hear. I must say I was glad it came from him. His warm, gentle voice had eased away the embarrassment we both felt, and I felt better knowing what to expect as I matured. I had promised him I would exercise both sensibility and responsibility in my conduct towards women. It was a promise I was glad to keep, especially since I was now a king.

Reflecting on that discussion, I wished Dad had included Edmund . . . or perhaps not. If Edmund had known more I think Jadis might have done even greater harm than she did. There are times, such as in this case, when I believe that ignorance can be a blessing. I lived in mortal dread of having to broach the topic with my little brother. I would, but it would not be an easy task. Still, Edmund needed to learn that intimacy need not equate to humiliation and pain.

A shout from the Ettins yanked me back to the here-and-now. Theirs was a merry feast and I only half-listened to the inane talk going on. Valerlan, having exiled the two people capable of contradicting him intelligently, was telling the guards a fanciful and highly inaccurate version of events. The word propaganda leapt to mind and I shook my head in disgust, catching the scornful look in Hatta's eyes. For the first and last time we were agreed upon something, it seemed. They grew louder and more belligerent with each swallow of wine.

One of the Ettins waded towards us through the grass, carrying laden wooden plates larger than platters. He grunted and jerked his head at Hatta, handing off one of the plates, before stepping past him to join me in the overgrown courtyard. He stared at me in fascination, clearly unable to even equate me to an Ettin child, and I gave him a steely look in return.

"Be this Jadis' heir?" he wondered softly, more to himself and hardly expecting a response. He reeked of wine and his words slurred.

"Ask Valerlan," I snapped.

He drew back in astonishment. I don't know what he expected - ignorance to match his own, perhaps. I refused to be subject to another round of gaping and gawking.

"Put the food down and remove yourself from my presence," I ordered sharply, and he was too intimidated to do aught but obey. He set the food down and hurried away, back to his secure world of Giants and wine and dim-witted humor fifty feet removed from my alien presence. The Ettins grew loud at his return and I saw Aufins, dumpy and old, depart on his mission to fetch more guards. More Ettins. Aslan have mercy on us.

I looked at the mess on the plate. There was a cup of water, more of the bland bread - not much better fresh but at least not speckled green with mold - and strips of some unknown variety of meat that was overdone, unseasoned, but edible after a fashion. The best that could be said of it is that it was hot. I picked at it all, knowing I had to eat something, and I was surprised that I found myself rather hungry.

I turned my back on Hatta so I did not have to watch his amusement as I struggled to eat my meal with bound hands. I also wanted a chance to look at my surroundings without making it seem obvious, but a close look didn't raise my hopes any. For all the chance I had of climbing out of here, I may as well have been in a pit. I looked at the massive pillars and the last remnants of sunlight in the sky beyond, wondering at so decorative a touch for an isolated little keep like this.

A bat flew overhead.

I froze, my hands poised halfway to my mouth.

Moments later another bat flew by, this one larger and clearly of a different species. I felt a surge of hope rise within me as I watched the graceful creatures. Bats! That _was_ what I had heard back in the caverns! The Ettins, intent on devouring their meal and drinking their wine, did not see them and I doubt they would have noticed even if they were looking at the sky, for who would bother to take note of a bat even if it wasn't quite dark enough for them to emerge?

I watched a Bat, tiny and dark, land on one of the columns not from above, but from the darkness beyond the pillars. If I had not been watching I never would have noticed her. She climbed down the rough surface, drawing closer before raising her head and staring at me intently. My heart was hammering in my chest fit to burst as I stared back, hardly daring to breathe. Bats could only mean one thing: Edmund was here. They were his constant messengers and good friends. Never breaking eye contact, the Bat let out a small hiss that the Ettins with their poor hearing never would have heard. I nodded my head slightly to let her know I was aware of her. Then she did something that told me my rescue was at hand.

She smiled.

Bats are not particularly pretty creatures, though since coming to Narnia I have grown very fond of them, for they are mannerly, witty and clever Animals with very dry senses of humor. This particular Bat was fuzzy brown with black wings, a pointed face like a dog, and overlarge ears. When she smiled, bringing me reassurance for the first time in an age, I thought she was one of the loveliest things I had ever beheld.

If Edmund had sent her then he had a plan, Aslan be praised, and I needed to know what it was. I stood up as if to stretch my legs. Immediately Hatta reacted, half-rising from his seat as he ordered,

"Sit down, you little scum! I didn't say you could move!"

"Go to hell, Hatta," I snapped back at him with all the contempt in my soul, ignoring his command. My tolerance for him had long since been exhausted and I stared him down. It seemed our deadly glares negated each other. With a faint growl he slowly sank back to his seat again, probably remembering the feeling of my heel meeting his toes.

There was a gentle thump on my shoulder and I felt the little Bat land on me. I remained standing at an angle to Hatta to hide her from sight. I could feel her slight weight tugging on my tunic as she moved closer to my ear.

"Majesty, say nothing," whispered this jewel among Bats, unaware that she could have spoken aloud and the Ettins would not have heard her. Her sharp voice was sweeter than music and I thrilled at each word. "Your brother is poised to attack. Be ready. Even now Kanell heads out to stop the Ettin Aufins, and your brother is circling 'round the keep from behind. They will attack when the moment is right."

I let my breath out in a shuddering sigh, closing my eyes as I let the enormity of this tiny creature's words impact upon me. A familiar prayer rose from my memory. It had been said in jest the first time, but now I mouthed the words in deadly earnest.

_Aslan, thank you for giving me an easily aggravated, clever, and wise brother._

It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders, lifted off by a being smaller than my hand.

I opened my eyes just as another one of the Ettin guards stood up.

"That dolt Aufins forgot his helm!" laughed the Giant, brandishing an iron helmet the size and shape of a wash tub. The others joined him in laughter and one of the younger guards, establishing himself as the next-in-command, ordered,

"Catch up with the old fool and return it to him. For that matter, Shogi, go with him to Keern lest he lose his way in the dark."

They were mightily amused, but the Bat on my shoulder tensed, tiny claws digging into my neck.

"Kanell!" she exclaimed, her voice full of dread.

"Go tell Edmund," I ordered, barely moving my lips. "Quickly!"

Pushing off my shoulder, she was gone.

I don't know how long I stood there, feeling so terribly alone yet so very excited and optimistic. It was an odd sensation, especially since I hadn't felt this way in ages. Indeed, it seemed an eternity since I had felt anything but anxiety and fatigue and frustration. I wanted to run about and cheer and fall on my knees all at once. Edmund was here, my dark and furious knight that would stop at nothing, be stopped by nothing in order to reach me. I almost smiled. Let the lesson begin.

I looked to the sky. More Bats, graceful and agile, darted overhead. Aslan bless those good Animals and save them. The Ettins never so much as looked up, confident that they were safe inside their own borders and settling back to their meal. Fools. Justice knows no borders.

A flitter of shadow and the tiny Bat landed against me again, panting heavily. She barely whispered in her excitement and haste.

"Sire, King Edmund begs you to hold their attention for a span."

I pretended to study the pillars, my face turned away from Hatta's watchful eyes. "How long?"

"Long enough for Xati to kill the second Ettin or warn Kanell."

However long that meant.

"Done," I murmured, wondering what on earth I could do or say to distract eight Giants. What could drag them away from their wine? How could I make them look nowhere but to me?

It was then that I realized the answer was simplicity itself, standing not right before me, but circling around somewhere behind me. The Blood Heir was here, only Valerlan didn't realize it.

Yet.

It was elementary. I could keep Valerlan and his ilk busy for hours.

I would just tell him the truth.


	27. Order of Battle

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Order of Battle **

_'Then he gave a shout. The lord of the Geats __  
unburdened his breast and broke out  
in a storm of anger. Under grey stone  
his voice challenged and resounded clearly.  
Hate was ignited. The hoard-guard recognized  
a human voice, the time was over  
for peace and parleying.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 2550 - 2556

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

As it turned out, we had a total of nine hundred and sixty-two Bats of every size, shape, color, and temperament available, sixty-three if you included tiny Flitterwink, but I didn't since I had already dispatched her to bring word to Peter. Pa'ala, used to commanding generations of her kin, was the undisputed leader. She had been accompanied by five members of her family as well as ten of her neighbors, a variety of Fruit Bat that came close to rivaling the Flying Foxes for sheer size. Because they were so visible I put Pa'ala's nephews and grandsons and the Fruit Bats in charge and divvied the rest of the Bats into nine groups. It was my intent that the Bats would attack the Ettins behind the first salvo from the archers, each group concentrating upon a specific Giant and spreading as much panic and confusion as they could.

I hadn't anticipated the stubborn response I received.

"They're not unwilling to attack," Pauton explained, gesturing helplessly with his hands. He was flustered and his face was as red as his beard. "They're quite eager, in fact. It's just that they all want to attack Valerlan!"

I sighed, looking to Kanell and together we turned to Pa'ala where she sat nibbling a piece of dried fruit. With a little grumble she handed the apricot to the Red Dwarf and said, "I shall deal with them. Bring me there."

None of us was about to argue, Pauton least of all, and he carefully carried her further back into the cave where the excited Bats were congregated. Kanell stamped his hoof, amused, and he commented,

"Every general should have such problems."

"And such captains," finished Athan.

"Well, she'll sort them out," I said with confidence. "We'll need to get into position for the archers to get clear shots."

"Every arrow must count," Kanell said. "Giants have hides like leather, so it's useless to shoot anywhere but in the head, eyes, neck, and open wounds. Pass word on to the archers that they are to shoot for the eyes and throat. They all have short swords and our good guides brought their axes, so none will want for a weapon. Now . . ." He cast his eye on the motley array of soldiers and citizens gathered around. "The order of battle must be decided upon."

It was not so lengthy a discussion, thought we were constantly interrupted by Bats bringing updates, but my own growing nervousness made it seem as if it took forever to decide. The worth of every person present was proven as we used what information had been gathered to formulate our attack. Like the Bats, we were each to concentrate upon our given task or our given Ettin. To me fell the task of freeing Peter. There was no sentiment attached to the errand, I was simply the best equipped to reach him the fastest, given my size, speed, and climbing ability. Moreover, I carried his sword and could arm him the moment he was released. The archers and Bats would do their best to keep Hatta amused until Peter was safe.

Kanell alone would confront Aufins when he left to fetch a princely escort. We would take position near and in the keep and wait for his return to attack, giving the Ettins every chance to get as drunk as possible.

Not a one of us was fooled into believing that chaos wouldn't erupt and complicate the battle plan, but Kanell and I knew the soldiers had enough discipline to keep cool heads and would respond to a call to order. When pandemonium reigned on the field one tended to fall back on one's training, acting automatically in the face of danger. Peter and I had drilled endlessly under Oreius' merciless tutelage and the instinct to act and fight had proven itself in me the day I had been made Sir Edmund of the How. Still, give me time to think about a pending fight and my first response was neither pretty nor something I cared to brag about.

"We must not be caught or penned into any of the rooms that have no outlet," Kanell insisted. "If we are forced to fall back it must be towards the fallen walls or one of the outside doors."

"I . . ." The thought of what had happened to Peter's guard in the courtyard of the White Witch's castle sprang to mind, that flash of blood and gore I had glimpsed. My stomach clenched as I looked at my fellows. Would I be forced to endure watching my own troop being devoured? I was the one they wanted, after all, even if the Ettins were too stupid to realize as much. There was a taste of bile in my mouth and I knew I was going to vomit. Taking a deep breath, I hastily said, "I need a moment. Your pardon."

With that I hurried away from the little knot of soldiers, heading for the mouth of the cave. It was a little warmer and I thought the fresh air might help, but I took one look at Loy Keep's forbidding silhouette and my stomach heaved. I stepped out of sight behind a boulder and I was quietly and thoroughly sick. So much for my last meal. I panted heavily, leaning on the rock as I trembled, sweaty and cold at once as nausea reluctantly receded.

When I looked up Kanell stood before me, a gentle, understanding expression upon his dark face.

"I hate this," I muttered, shifting away from the mess at my feet.

"There are few things worse than waiting for battle."

For some reason I felt the need to point out, "I didn't get sick like this when the rebel Trees attacked us."

"From what I understand of that battle, Majesty, you didn't have time to get sick."

"Suppose not," I muttered. "I got this sick at Beruna."

"I know."

"Wonderful." Did the whole army know? Probably, with my brand of luck. I leaned back against my rock, looking up at the huge Centaur. Behind him I could see Bats swooping hither and yon. "Will I ever get used to this feeling?"

"Some soldiers do. Some don't. Do you really want to get used to it? You're not alone in your anxiety, King Edmund."

Peter never got sick like this. I envied him. "I know. I'm just . . . there's a battle coming, Kanell. People may die."

"People will die," he corrected. "That is the way of these things. You cannot dwell on it or let it change what you must do."

"How can I not?"

He stamped a hoof, at once my teacher and captain and friend and confidant. "As a knight and a king of Narnia, is there anything you wouldn't sacrifice to keep her safe? Would you lay down your life for your country, Sire?"

"I'd like to think so," I admitted. "I haven't been tried."

"Haven't you?" he countered. "What of Beruna, when you challenged the White Witch and broke her power?"

"She was going to kill Peter."

"And you willingly sacrificed all to prevent that from happening, saving the High King and through the High King, Narnia."

I could see his point, though I thought it was a bit of a stretch. Still . . . it made sense. I would have gladly died that day to stop Jadis. She had known that, too, and had done her best to satisfy my wishes.

"Our love and willingness to serve Narnia and _revinim_ are no less than yours. We are soldiers all, Edmund. We are not forced into Narnia's army. We join of our own volition, with the understanding that at any time we could be called upon to make the greatest of sacrifices in the service to our land and the crown. We serve with pride and honor and if we die it is because we love our land enough to protect it with our lives and bodies just as you did the same for your brother."

I gazed at him quietly. They were a wise people, the Centaurs, and I hoped that some day I could express myself so well. I was about to speak when Pandicat joined us, having dropped to all fours for the sake of speed.

"Majesty, Kanell," she panted, "Aufins departs!"

My anxiety vanished as I scooped up the Lemur and deposited her on my shoulder. The rest of the party joined us and we quietly, stealthily picked our way to a lookout point Flinder had chosen earlier. The spot was hidden by a little rise and a few ragged bushes, so typical of the area that the likes of Aufins wouldn't notice it even if he was staring directly at it. We were afforded a decent view of the area, hidden by the long grass and the falling night, and we could easily see the main entrance of the keep.

Amidst drunken laughter and bawdy shouts we watched as an Ettin soldier made his way out of the ruined fort. He neither hurried nor maintained a steady course, but kept to a path leading roughly to the northeast. Kanell studied him, his disgust evident. The fellow was overweight and slovenly and didn't even survey his surroundings. They were too used to dominating the land here to feel threatened by anything, these Ettins, and I suspected they relied upon their size for their foremost defense. I was willing to bet Valerlan hadn't imparted the tale of Peter felling Hatta with one kick. He would not want to advertise that anything so small could be a threat, and Hatta certainly wouldn't want to story to get out.

"I'll be back soon," swore the captain, his voice both grim and determined.

"Aslan keep you, Kanell," I replied. "We'll move ahead and get into position. We'll be waiting for you."

He nodded sharply, a creature of action now. He turned to go when Xati stopped him with one hand to his broad chest. She gave him a look that was long and hard and fierce and said far more than words. Her voice echoed his determination.

"Be careful," was all she said. She dropped her hand and stepped back, granting him leave to go. Kanell returned her stare for a moment then slowly smiled before he wheeled around and set off after Aufins, the long grass muffling his hoof beats. Xati watched him until he vanished into the darkness. I glanced at the little troop and saw many a grin being quickly hidden as the Centaur mare turned. She cast a narrow-eyed look at us but said nothing.

"Pandicat, you stay here with Peterkins," I said, ignoring the little groan my words produced from the would-be knight at my feet. "Keep him safe. If we fail, hide until you can make your way back to Narnia."

The Lemur nodded wordlessly, bowing deeply. Peterkins stood close by in a state of slack-jawed shock. "But -"

I cut the kit off with one finger pointing at his face. "Not a word, Peter Fox!" I hissed. "You disobeyed me once. Do so again at your hazard, young sir."

He hunched down in his spot, his ears flat, his tail drooping. Had I time, I might have felt sorry for him. I think he had been counting on everyone forgetting his transgressions in light of services rendered.

"You will obey Pandicat's least order without question, Peterkins, and you will not grumble, complain, or give her a moment's grief. Is that understood?"

"Yes, King Edmund," he agreed softly. I had encountered his promises before, though, and I could only hope that guilt would fuel a desire to do as he was told. I, of all people in the world, could appreciate his desire to rebel against someone telling him what to do and how to act. Lion knows I had done it often enough to Peter, but where I was Peter's brother, Peterkins was my subject.

"I'll leave some Bats with you," I promised the Lemur. "We'll keep you posted."

Eyes wide, she nodded. "Follow the path of the Lion, good my king," she replied, bestowing a tree-dweller's blessing upon me.

I leaned over and kissed her fuzzy head and gave Peterkins a reassuring pat. Stepping away, I drew Rhindon. It was heavier and longer than Shafelm but it fit snugly in my hands. I transferred the sword to my right hand, testing its heft. If the need arose I was certain I could wield it one-handed, allowing me to use both swords. That was just as well, seeing as how I had no armor or shield. I swung the blade, unconsciously compensating for the greater length as I fell into a fighting stance. My earlier panic seemed to have spent itself, leaving me emptied of anxiety and not exactly eager for battle, but at least no longer sick over it.

Xati joined me, barely visible in the darkening twilight. The moon wasn't quite high enough to provide much light yet, but soon, and I knew she watched me with professional interest. It was heartening that she didn't offer any advice but merely asked, "Are you ready, Sire?"

I lowered Rhindon to my side. "Yes, Lieutenant," I replied. "I -"

"Flitterwink!" exclaimed Flinder softly. "Majesty, 'tis Flittewink!"

I felt a chill of fright. Something must have gone awry. I hurried over to the dark mound that was Athan and there, in his palm, rested the tiny messenger. I leaned close to hear her. She was panting and winded.

"Majesty, a second Ettin departs the keep! Aufins forgot his helmet and they send another of the garrison to guide him to Keern!"

Straining my eyes, I stared at Loy, every person in the troop joining me. Sure enough we could see a huge form in the doorway, laughing and waving to his fellows before setting out into the darkness. This Giant was younger and fitter, but, Aslan be praised, he seemed at least as drunk as Aufins and about as stable.

I looked to Xati, the only one capable of moving fast enough to warn Kanell. She clearly came to the exact same realization because she whirled on me, leaning close, every muscle tensed for the dash ahead of her.

"Athan, you'll have to lead them inside the main door. King Edmund, do you move the troop into position. I will either deal with that Ettin myself or join Kanell and we'll take them both. We'll join you as swift as we may."

"Do it," I ordered, my voice sounding strangely hollow from this unexpected strain. "Hurry. I'll try to gain some time. Flitterwink!"

Small and fleet, Xati took off to the northeast. I didn't have time to watch her go, but I immediately addressed the Pipistrelle Bat resting on Athan's hand. She clung to his thumb, waiting expectantly.

"Fly back to Peter. Let him know what we're doing. Tell him he has to buy us some time for Kanell and Xati to get back here. Hurry!"

She was gone in the wink of an eye. I turned to another courier, this one familiar from where he perched atop Shikov's head. "Good Twilth, hie thee to Pa'ala and tell her the number is now eight Ettins. Have her get her forces into position."

"And you, Sire?" asked Twilth.

I smiled. "We'll be storming the keep, good my Bat."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

We needn't have kept as quiet as we did, I later learned. Not only were the members of Valerlan's troop being outrageously loud, but Peter eventually told me that Ettins possess rather poor hearing and are more reliant upon sight to notice things. Three archers, Athan, Shikov, and Barin split off and headed for the front entrance of the keep while the rest of us slunk towards the pile of rubble that was the crumbling northern wall. Overhead I could hear the faint sound of flapping wings as a great, dark stream of bats sped through the night towards the building. My heart was hammering in my chest as I kept to a steady trot in order to keep pace with the taller, faster Satyrs and Fauns. I felt the absence of the Centaurs very keenly, for any Centaur in Narnia's army, be they mare or stallion, is essentially an armory with hooves.

Close up Loy Keep was an intimidating sight. The scale was enormous and I could appreciate how Peterkins or Pandicat must have felt around even me, let alone someone that was actually tall. The very stones in the walls and those fallen to the ground were huge. If this was a small keep I did not want to see a castle or, worse still, the Giantish city of Harfang.

Panic seized me for a moment when I heard a familiar voice give a shout. _Peter!_ I tensed, straining every nerve, but he was merely calling out to his captor, challenging him to listen. Suddenly I could breathe again. I didn't hesitate at the edge of the crumbled wall, but quickly started to climb towards the gap in the wall. Flinder was beside me, his long claws scraping the lichen-encrusted stone, his powerful form a source of great comfort. A Bat fluttered down and landed on me without ceremony.

"The Ettins are gathered before your brother. His words are most displeasing to them."

"Lion's mane!" I moaned. "What is he _saying_ to them?"

The Bat tensed, ready to launch back into the air. "The truth, King Edmund."

He was gone. I stared into the darkness. The _truth_? Had Peter gone mad?

"Faster!" I ordered. From what I knew of Valerlan, the genuine facts of the matter were the last things he ever wanted to hear. Besides, the Ettins not knowing the truth is what had kept Peter alive and unharmed for so long. What would happen when they realized he wasn't the Blood Heir? Worse yet, what if he didn't give those dolts the chance to figure it out for themselves and _told_ them as much?

I didn't even want to think about it. I didn't dare.

We plunged into darkness that was so deep it made the open field look bright by comparison. I put my left hand down on Flinder's flank and let the Bobcat guide me. Following his senses, he led me through a room with an earthen floor, then up a few steps. I saw shadows dancing on the far wall, and when we rounded the corner I could see firelight broken by tall pillars. The porch. Just beyond it, the Ettins held my brother.

A gentle tap on my shoulder told me the last of our number had joined us. These soldiers needed no instruction, but silently, stealthily crept forward, clinging to the darkness, their weapons – if they bore them – at the ready. I reversed my grip on Rhindon so I could hold the sword behind me. It would not do to have light glint off the blade and alert the Ettins.

My boots made no sound as I carefully moved forward. More of the awful scene came into view. Our position was a good eight or ten feet above the yard below and closer to eye level with an Ettin that I ever would have liked, but then I wasn't an archer. There were no voices now; no revelry or singing filled the night air. All I could hear was my brother's indistinct voice and the sound of the huge fire crackling and roaring at the other end of the open yard.

There was a pile of rubble close to the edge between two pillars and I claimed it as my own, dropping down low to inch forward. Flinder stayed glued to my side. Whatever Peter was saying to the Giants had them completely riveted because there was no movement, no mumbling or shifting, and the scout and I reached the cover of stone and timber and dirt. Through an opening in the pile I got my first glimpse of what we were up against.

Sweet Lion, they were hideous, massive things. So filthy were they that I could smell them from where I crouched. Their eyes were glazed with drink and they swayed slightly as if rocked by a breeze. I cast the motley assortment Ettins a swift look before I concentrated on the slight figure standing fearlessly before them. I almost gasped at the sight of Peter. Finally! It seemed a lifetime, not a sennight, and I felt a little thrill course through at the sight of him. His fair hair was darkened with dirt and I could see stains on his clothes but he was still the brightest thing in Loy. He was whole and alive and talking and most likely overdoing it because I could see the storm clouds gathering before my very eyes.

_Oh, Peter, tread carefully!_

Valerlan. I knew the crown prince instantly. He was smaller than his fellows and strangely disproportionate, with ragged black hair framing a large head with small, heavy features. He stood directly before Peter, glaring down at him with hatred. There was a keen intelligence on his face, the kind of intelligence Jadis would have valued – cunning and ruthless and greedy enough to be strung along by her empty promises. He was evil, of wicked intent, the direct opposite of the boy that stood before him.

This was the one who had captured my brother and would make of him a second Etainn.

This was the one who would hoist the pain and humiliation of what I had suffered onto Peter.

For that, Valerlan would die.

I knew the archers could see me from their assigned posts behind the pillars and I raised my left hand in a fist, the order to hold. We needed Xati and Kanell back here with us in order to attack. We needed time. We were too small and too few. . .

_Hold them, Peter . . . please. _

Before my eyes a dramatic change swept over Valerlan's pug features – annoyance turned to shock to unbridled fury as he listened to my brother's truths. The Ettins shifted about nervously, alarmed by their prince's reaction to the puny little Human. At this distance it was impossible to hear what Peter said to him but it must have been direct and merciless. Every word seemed to strike like a blow and Valerlan's face became as dark and angry as a hurricane.

I thought hard and fast, licking my chapped lips. Not yet. Kanell wasn't back yet. We had to maintain. I shifted my fingers on Rhindon's grip, still holding my left fist tight and visible to the archers.

A shout of passionate rage escaped Valerlan and he drew one huge hand across his body as if to backhand my brother. He knew, Peter knew, I knew such a blow would kill a human. I was about to gesture to the archers to let fly with the fist salvo when a hideous scream of agony rent the night air, joining briefly with Valerlan's wrath before ending as abruptly as it had begun. I instantly knew that there were only eight of our enemies left to deal with now.

The prince stayed his hand. The Ettins were horrified and verging on panic, glancing about wildly. Some pulled away, others drew in closer. Only Valerlan focused on the tiny figure before him. Peter said something more and the crown prince went from livid to murderous.

He raised his hand . . . and I dropped mine.

_"NARNIA!" _


	28. Flame Rising

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Flame Rising**

A note to JediMan - when Edmund uses words such as 'hell' and 'damn' they're simply expletives and an expression of frustration. When Peter uses those same words they're meant far more literally. In my version of Narnia I've already established that both kings are in possession of mighty tempers, Peter just has a much tighter reign on his than Edmund does, so when he loses his cool the results are far more spectacular.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'. . . always they had been  
partners in the fight, friends in need.  
They killed giants, their conquering swords  
had brought them down.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 880 - 883

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

A loud, raucous laugh erupted from the cluster of Ettins and for a moment Hatta looked away, watching their carousing with envy. I took advantage of his distraction and glanced down at the Bat clinging to my shoulder. "Get safely away, lady," I ordered in a whisper. "Tell Edmund I'm waiting for him."

"Lion be with you," breathed the tiny Bat, pushing off again.

I gave her a few moments to get clear, feeling strangely lonely without her small but valiant presence. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air that smelt of sweat and grass and wood smoke. Eyes closed, I held my breath for a few heartbeats, steeling myself and saying a silent prayer before slowly releasing this air of Ettinsmoor, opening my eyes.

_Aslan, protect and guide me as you have all along. Let the truth be my shield until my brother arrives. Guard his company and see us through this storm. We are yours. _

Standing straight, I looked past Hatta to the ring of Ettins at the fire, focusing on my Palish counterpart. I was as ready as I could be and Edmund needed me to do my part. I would not fail him.

"Valerlan!" I shouted, ignoring Hatta's gesture to be silent as he whirled about. "Valerlan! Crown Prince! Listen to me! I have something to tell you!"

"Sit down!" bellowed my guard as the revelry came to an abrupt stop. The Ettins stared at me across the yard.

"Valerlan! Are you afraid of me?"

That struck a nerve. Almost choking on a last swig of wine from the skin beside him, the crown prince rose and strode across the ruined courtyard, Storr and the guards flanking him with Haigha limping behind. I could feel the ground shake from the sheer size and weight of more than half a dozen Giants. They cast long, dark shadows as they drew near. Backlit by the fire, they filled my line of vision. Great Aslan, they were monstrous huge things even if Ettins were the smallest of the Giant races.

Surrounded by his subjects and cronies, Valerlan had converted to a swaggering, haughty brute, even louder and more domineering than he had been when carrying on before just a handful of his ilk. He seemed less a king and more the leader of a troop of brigands. I gave him an arch look as he stood beside Hatta, letting him know I was well aware of his play-acting and I was far from impressed. Indeed, I found myself strangely detached, numb to fear even, though I felt a thrill of relief when I noticed that they had left their war clubs behind by the fire. While some of the guards wore swords I strongly suspected they were not very adept at their use, and for the most part the Ettins were unarmed. Hatta alone retained his club.

Thank the Lion.

"Now what?" Valerlan demanded with a snide curl of his lip. I could smell the alcohol on them from where I stood.

I smiled faintly. "There's something I need to tell you."

"So you said, little king. What?"

"I need to tell you the truth."

The prince frowned. "Truth? What truth?"

"_My_ truth," I replied smartly. I remembered Aslan's cryptic words to Edmund last Yule and added, "The truth of what is. You see, you're wrong about me, Valerlan, and you know _nothing_ of events as they stand in Narnia."

Valerlan's small, dark eyes narrowed sharply as he began to comprehend what I was saying. He shifted, as dangerous as a wounded animal, and he was instantly defensive. _"What?"_ he breathed as the Ettins shuffled about nervously. Most did not understand anything but the fact that their crown prince was furious beyond words.

All eyes were upon me. I resisted the urge to smirk, glad of the chance to set him aright. I raised my voice so that they could all hear even with their poor hearing.

"The truth, Valerlan! Everything that's been right before you but you choose not to see! Did you know that Jadis was immortal?" I demanded. "She ate the fruit from the same tree that gave Narnia the Tree of Protection. It grants immortality and despair. Only Aslan could have slain her and he did! Didn't your people ever wonder why she didn't age? Why she had the power to lock Narnia in a century of winter? She would never, ever have kept her promise to make your family her heirs. She didn't need any!"

The Ettins exchanged concerned glances, disturbed by such a revelation.

"You lie!" hissed Storr, betraying his own desire for the White Witch. He ignored the fact that his brother had wasted years and years of waiting in hope for something would never, could never come to him.

I glared at him so fiercely he shrank back behind his brother. "I am the High King of Narnia," I snapped. "I have no reason to lie even to the likes of you."

"High King?" wondered Haigha softly, confused at my title.

"Your next mistake," I said to Valerlan, "was in believing Jadis' version of the prophesy. You should have delved into it for yourself. She never told you the entire thing. For her power to be overthrown two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve had to enter Narnia and be enthroned in Cair Paravel. By Aslan's law none other are allowed to rule this land as monarchs! You could never reign in Narnia, Valerlan. I am the eldest of four sovereigns of the realm. By seizing me you have done _nothing_ but call down the wrath of my brother King Edmund the Just." Since I couldn't point with my hands tied, I stamped my foot at the prince standing before me, shock written on his ugly face. "I warned you Narnia would not tolerate this affront, nor will she!"

Beyond them, above the ruined walls of the keep, Bats streaked by, more than I had ever seen before. They rose up in a great swarm high in the sky, waiting for the signal to attack. I needed no such signal, but pressed on with my assault. I'd had nothing to do but walk and think for an entire week and I had come to a great many conclusions in the process. Like a spark igniting a flame I let my temper have free reign, seeing no reason to hold back any more.

I stepped forward and shouted the words I had been longing to say since I had woken up in the throne room of the White Witch's ice castle. "I am _not_ the Blood Heir! I never have been!"

Valerlan's eyes grew huge and he gasped. "You said -"

I cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I never said a thing! You assumed and I didn't correct you! Oh, you're quite right, there _is_ a Blood Heir, but it's not me. Jadis' Blood Heir is my younger brother, King Edmund. He fell under her power and enchantment and _he_ was the one among us she made heir to her legacy. Edmund carries Jadis' taint, not I. _He_ was the one she chose, not _you_! A simple Son of Adam over the Ettin crown prince! She tricked him into eating and drinking a potion made of her blood and the price he paid was more terrible than you can imagine.

"Your father thinks to breed a line descended from Humans and Ettins and whatever Jadis was? Do you actually think for one instant Narnia would accept such a ruler, from such a people as yours? Valaner is mad to believe anything so far-fetched. You accuse me of stealing your birthright? I can't steal something you never had! You have no respect for Aslan, for his works, for _revinim_, for everything that makes Narnia the seat of his grace and power! You destroyed the Tree of Protection, killed and ate Narnian citizens and helped empower a tyrant!"

"You are not the Blood Heir," murmured Valerlan, staring at me as if he had never seen me before. He was fixated on this single fact. I saw his hand creep towards the knife in his belt reflexively. Kanell and Xati had better hurry back - I didn't think Valerlan would stay his first impulse to kill me. He shifted, his cunning mind searching for a way to salvage the situation even as it fell apart around him. "Where is this brother, then?"

"Closer than you'd wish," I snapped, my heart hammering in my chest. It was as much a thrill as a relief to menace them back after the abuse and terror I'd endured in their company. "There's something else your people's legends haven't taken into account. You say Human blood is what made your race so great in the past. Are you so sure? If Etainn was the grandson of King Frank and Queen Helen he would have been half Human. There were no Humans besides the royal family in Narnia at that age in history. The children of Frank and Helen married Wood Nymphs and River Gods. It's impossible for Etainn to have been purely Human because unlike the Ettins we are_ not_ in the habit of bedding our sisters. How do you know Ettain's intelligence didn't come from the native Narnians?"

There was absolute silence as I tore apart the beliefs and legends of more than eight hundred years of history. Perhaps because Humans had always ruled Narnia, the Ettins had assumed the Human blood in them had given them their genius. Perhaps it had, perhaps not. It didn't matter. They were a doomed race.

Valerlan's alcohol-muddled mind processed my words and he became increasingly angry. I think he knew full well that I was telling the truth, he simply didn't want to hear it.

"Narnia is what lifted your people from the mud, Valerlan, and Narnia is the one thing you will never possess!" I looked at him squarely. "You are not worthy."

That did it. Valerlan's face twisted into a savage mask and with a scream of rage he raised one huge hand, winding up to smash me to pulp. One blow and he would kill me, but I stood my ground. Suddenly another scream, distant and terrified, tore through the night. The Ettins froze, even the prince, as the terrible howl ended as abruptly as it began. They cowered and whimpered, lumping close together. Storr seized his brother's sleeve in both hands but Valerlan shook him off with a savage growl.

"This is your last chance, Valerlan," I said, knowing that Kanell and Xati had fulfilled their mission. "Release me. Let me walk out of here unmolested and you and your people won't be destroyed. Otherwise . . . the fate of the Ettin race be upon your head."

If ever Crown Prince Valerlan had wanted to kill someone, it was Narnia's High King. With a hiss of murderous fury he drew his hand back to strike me -

_"NARNIA!"_

- my brother's war-cry echoed throughout the keep -

- and the whole world erupted into chaos.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Screams rang out as a volley of arrows sped from the shadows and found their marks. Two of the Ettins clutched their faces, hands over their bleeding eyes and their howls of agony and fear filling the air. An instant later swarms of Bats swooped down from above, their shrill voices rising up in a piercing screech. They flocked around the Ettins, clawing and flapping, a confusing veil of darkness and motion and aggressiveness. Caught completely off guard, the Giants were thrown into disarray, some screaming, some covering their heads to run, the injured tripping and falling.

All this happened in the span of a few seconds. I darted back out of Valerlan's range. Behind me I heard another shout and I barely looked up when Edmund came scrambling down the crumbling wall behind me, Rhindon in his hand. Behind him archers and Animals broke cover and moved to attack the Ettins.

"Peter!"

Landing heavily, Edmund ran a few steps towards me before he thrust Rhindon point-down into the sod and yanked his dagger free from his belt. I stumbled towards him, falling to my knees, holding out my bound hands. I barely had time to take in his appearance. He was as filthy as he was resolute and he wasted a few moments scrutinizing me, looking for injuries or signs of hurt. I found myself doing the same to him, unable to talk as he worked on cutting me free.

"To Keern!" roared Valerlan.

I looked behind me, keeping my hands braced against Edmund's belt as he tore at my bonds. It was pandemonium as Animals and Dwarfs and archers attacked from all sides. Valerlan, vainly swiping at Bats as if they were mosquitoes, hauled Hatta to his feet. The older Ettin's exposed flesh was covered with tiny, bloody scrapes from the Bats' claws.

"Get to Keern! Have Daichoe send troops!"

Hatta nodded silently, staggering off. I whipped around.

"Ed, we have to stop them!" My voice was desperate to my own ears.

"Consider it done," he swore without hesitation.

My younger brother cut through the last leather strap binding my wrists. He shoved his dagger back into his belt and stepped back in order to draw the sword I had given him less than a month ago. He let out a shout of warning and swung Shafelm in a wide arc over both of our heads as I instinctively ducked low. His reward was a hiss of pain as the tip of the sword sliced across Valerlan's palm. The Ettin had been reaching for me but now he staggered back, stung, blood dripping from his hand.

Edmund hauled me to my feet and then he was gone, darting after Hatta as the Ettin staggered away towards the center of the keep. What had I just done? I had set my only brother after the worst of our enemies.

_Aslan, protect him! _

"Pa'ala!" I heard Edmund shout and then Hatta screamed as a massive Bat swept down, dragging huge wings across one of his eyes. He knocked the Bat aside and ran on, stumbling up the steps and into the darkness beyond.

"Run!" screamed Valerlan, and the desperation in his tone gave me a surge of hope. They were not used to resistance, not trained to react as we were. They postured and bellowed and threatened, where we simply attacked.

He was afraid.

I snatched up Rhindon in aching hands, the familiar weight of this perfect blade all the more reassuring for having been delivered to me by my only brother. I hope it had comforted him in his journey as much as it comforted me on this battlefield.

"Valerlan!"

He turned at my shout. All around him his soldiers and kin were under direct assault. I caught a glimpse of Athan, the Mountain Gorilla, clambering up a guard's armor and attacking the Ettin's face with powerful blows of his fists and his razor-sharp teeth. Two of the Giants were down, groaning in pain, and I saw the Bobcat, Flinder, going for the throat of one while a pair of Black Dwarfs wielding axes went for the other without mercy. Bats swarmed everywhere, like black snow caught on the wind.

The crown prince focused on me. Once he had marveled at me and all that I represented. Now he looked upon me with absolute hatred as his plans and his world came to an end.

"Kill you," hissed he. "I'll kill you!"

I was already running at him, Rhindon at the ready. I didn't waste my breath on words, but let my actions speak for me:

_Not today. _


	29. Two

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Two **

_'And Naegling snapped.' _

_Beowulf_, line 2680

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

A shout, a hiss, a flash of blood behind the tip of my sword, and Valerlan withdrew his huge hand, startled by my bite. I seized Peter by the arm and yanked him to his feet then somehow I tore myself from my brother's side and flung myself into the fray. It was like being in the midst of a storm – forces moving about, following their own nature and buffeted by the elements surrounding them. Such was battle, a maelstrom of energy and intensity and panic.

_Ed, we have to stop them! _

The desperation in Peter's tone was frightening, and I had spoken without thinking, ready to promise anything. It was a mighty task I set myself.

_Consider it done. _

If I had said that to anyone but Peter they would have called me an arrogant whelp. Instead he turned to face the Ettins without another word, laying hold of Rhindon as he moved. His confidence in me gave strength and it was with a certain glee that I realized it was Hatta I was gunning for. He had been abusive and cruel to Peter, probably from the start of this misguided raid on Narnia. I suspected that in his crude way he had been even worse than Valerlan.

I wanted that Ettin. He was _mine. _

Racing after the shaggy form, I realized I was too small and slow compared to the likes of a Giant to ever head one off. I needed to delay Hatta _now_, before he got so far ahead of me that I could never catch up to him on foot.

"Pa'ala!"

She never hesitated, but twisted in mid-flight and dove at Hatta's face. Her huge wings swept forward and suddenly the Ettin let out a howl of shock and pain as she swiped at his eyes. Blindly, he swung and his hand caught the Flying Fox, knocking her out of the air. I heard her screech as she fell but I dared not stop to check her. I knew she would have yelled at me if I tried to help her before stopping Hatta.

The steps were huge, but luckily they were cracked and broken and I had little difficulty in improvising stairs of my own. All around me arrows and Bats flew as the Ettins defended themselves against an enemy that was far beyond their comprehension. I saw Barin and Brant going for one of the downed Giants and I knew those two could hold their own.

I followed Hatta deeper into the keep. Pa'ala's attack must have disoriented him because he did not run for the main doors off at the other end of the courtyard, but he veered towards the heart of the building. There was a flash of motion in front of me as he darted into the pillared hall, the only room with a roof left in Loy. I slowed down, not about to plunge in after him without an idea of what I was getting myself into. I might be arrogant and impulsive, but I was not stupid.

A sound of rushing air came from behind me and I felt a small slap on my shoulder as a Bat landed. I didn't even look down. I didn't need to.

"He's before you, Majesty," whispered Twilth, "moving towards the wall. He cannot find the far exit in the dark."

Pa'ala must have blinded him, if only temporarily. I slid around the door frame and carefully stepped off to the side so I would not be silhouetted in the entrance. Inside was darkness until my eyes adjusted to the light from the nearly full moon and a sky full of stars shining in from the glassless, arched windows set high above the floor. I ducked into the shadows, listening for my quarry, Shafelm the Second close to my side. Gradually I could see with more clarity and everything took on that strange, flat quality of a nighttime world.

My straining eyes could make out massive pillars, larger around than the ones in Cair Paravel's great hall. The surface of them was cool and smooth and uncarved under my touch, not nearly as weathered as the rest of the stone in the keep. They stood in two rows the full length of the room. To my left, running the length of the wall, there was a line of empty windows, their rounded arches making them smaller and narrower than the great, grand windows with their acres of stained glass adorning our castle.

"To the right," whispered my Bat guide. "Behind the pillars. He's passed the side door."

Did Hatta know I was here? Dare I venture across the open floor? In relative terms the room was narrow for its length, not at all well proportioned. I decided to risk it. If I was going to confront the brute, I had to get closer. In truth if I had any real idea of what I was up against I would never have dared so bold a move, but the sound of battle going on behind me reminded me that Peter would be worried about my safety and that worry might make him hesitate.

The shadows of the pillars ran full length across the floor and I followed one of them to Hatta's side of the room, carefully avoiding the large patches of moonlight. I could see and hear his huge bulk grouping along the wall, gasping in pain as he tried to muffle his own sounds. He was armed with a club longer than I was tall. I watched from behind a pillar as he paused a moment to pass his hand over his eye. Clearly Pa'ala had done some damage, because he set the club down, resting it against his leg, and pressed both hands to his face as he leaned back against the wall. He was breathing in ragged pants and gasps. An attack here, in an Ettin fort, was the last thing he or any of his fellows had expected and it unnerved him completely. He dropped one hand, pressing the heel of the other hard against his injured eye.

He was distracted. This might be my only chance and I took it.

"To the air, Twilth," I commanded and then I broke cover, running at my prey. Hatta dropped his hand and looked up an instant too late to avoid me.

I let out a shout as I drove Shafelm upwards with all my strength and weight, driving the tip of the sword deeply into Hatta's thigh. I almost lost my grip when the point connected with something hard and I realized my sword had hit the Ettin's femur. There was a heartbeat's delay; blood welled forth, splashing me. The Ettin bellowed in rage and pain, twisting away. I kept my hold on Shafelm's grip and his wild bucking widened the stab wound. Yanking for all I was worth, my slick hands slipped off over the pommel and I staggered back, falling onto my rump.

I couldn't free my sword. It was too firmly lodged. I may as well have stabbed one of the pillars for all the chance I'd have of loosening Shafelm now. I had a brief flash of memory, something Celer had once said during one of our lessons on warfare: _"Giants' bones are as hard and heavy as stone. That's why they cannot swim." _

Blast! I had thought to inflict some damage upon him, not disarm myself!

Hatta seized at Shafelm, but whatever strength had been in me during the attack had made it impossible for him to pull the blade free. He screamed as he cut his hand on the steel blade, then he snatched up his fallen war club.

I sensed rather than saw Hatta's motion and I threw myself back and away, scrambling to hide behind the nearest pillar as the enraged Ettin smashed his club downwards, shattering the pavers where I had sprawled just moments before. He screamed again as the tree trunk sheered along his leg in a close, deliberate blow. An off-key, metallic ring echoed through the chamber and Shafelm clattered to the ground a few yards from where I hid. I knew the sound was completely wrong (not that I wanted to admit having dropped my sword before), higher in pitch and flat in quality, as my singing teacher would have said. Leaving Hatta to continue his pain-crazed raving and staggering, I dove forward, rolling to gain distance and I snatched up Shafelm by the cross-guard before running for cover deeper into the room. I darted behind a pillar, panting in fear and excitement.

Shafelm's grip felt right in my hand but the weight was off. I barely had time to glance at it, but the last ten inches or so of Two's blade had snapped off at a jagged angle and remained imbedded in the Ettin's leg. A long crack, obvious even in the faint light of the moon, ran through the remaining steel almost to the cross-guard. Well. Oreius always was yelling at me to use the blade more than the point. Now I had no choice. A few blows and it would break further and shatter, but a broken sword is better than none and both it and I were more than capable of inflicting additional damage on the Ettins.

Hatta crumbled to his knee, his injured left leg extended, and loud moans of pain echoing through the ruins. He could not clutch the wound without dropping his club. He spotted me and let out a furious bellow, awkwardly swinging his weapon once again. The carved tree trunk brushed the stone columns. I darted back behind the pillar, looking up as a trickle of pebbles and dust was dislodged from the shaken stone and onto my head. This place was old and in poor repair and that was just the thing I needed.

I paused, listening. Hatta was sniffing the air, grunting like Shikov did when he discovered the scent he sought. It was rather disconcerting and I could not imagine what he sought. All I could smell was blood and dirt and my own sweat. What could Hatta smell?

"Human!" he called with a nasty sneer and laugh. "I smell your fear. I smelt it on the other one, the little king. I kill you!" hissed Hatta, dragging himself forward. "Filthy Human! Be damned to you!"

Abruptly he froze. I did likewise. I wasn't exactly horrified that he could smell me so clearly. In truth I was closer to being revolted.

"I smell _her_ in you, too. I smell that bitch queen that corrupted our kings. You're his brother. You're the one she chose. You're the one Valerlan wanted. Blood Heir! All her promises broken. I'll kill you!"

So they knew. Peter must have told them. I felt a chill that I swiftly quashed, knowing what it was like to be chosen by Jadis for anything. It was hardly the honor they seemed to think it was, the fools. She might be in me still but she was powerless. Aslan and Peter had seen to that.

He swung again; striking my pillar with so much force I could feel the impact through the stone under my hands. A few slate roofing tiles, held aloft by tired wooden beams, clattered down onto the floor and shattered into splinters. Hatta limped around the pillar, trying to catch me, but I moved with him, keeping him opposite me and infuriating him.

"My people don't need your filthy blood," he raved. "You're good only for eating!"

Once again he struck. I threw myself back and away as a chunk of the roof crashed down right where I had been. I dashed behind the next pillar as Hatta laughed.

"Dance, little Human! Your brother wouldn't play, so let's see how you dance!"

There was a groan from the timbers above as if Loy Keep was in pain. I peered around the pillar at my nemesis. In the darkness and moonlight he was a lumbering bulk with a long shadow. He was dragging his wounded leg, his movements desperate and awkward. I felt a small thump on my back as Twilth returned, clinging to the high collar of my tunic with his tiny claws. He was terrified, more for me than himself.

"Majesty, the roof will fall!"

"I'm betting on it," I returned, not at all concerned if Hatta heard me. All the better if he did.

Begged the Bat, "You must escape!"

I shook my head. "No. I have to stop him."

Peering around the column, I let my Ettin opponent spot me - tiny, annoying little Human that I was. Hatta let out a vicious hiss, dragging himself forward. A smear of blood followed him. He braced himself and swung the club. It smashed into the stone pillar beside me. Hard wood splintered and chips of stone flew wide. I felt the shrapnel pepper my shoulders and with a little squeak Twilth took shelter inside my collar, climbing faster than I have ever known a Bat to move. The ceiling groaned again and suddenly I knew exactly what I had to do in order to carry out Peter's command.

Hatta was panting and gasping from pain and effort. His movements were slowing as fatigue and blood loss from his wounds caught up to him. Good. I would use that, too. I ran out into the center of the floor, unmistakable in my bravado, and then I raced back to the first pillar Hatta had beaten with his war club. The Giant let out a bellow of rage at my audacity and staggered around. He wielded his weapon with surprising speed and I felt the rush of air pass me. I took cover just as the club hit the stone pillar right where my head had been a moment before. An echoing boom resounded through the chamber and I heard a crack, though be it stone or wood I couldn't say. I didn't stop moving until I was on the far side of the column, as far away from Hatta and the tree trunk he was swinging as I could get.

Close. That had been very close - and very foolish, I'll admit - but he was furious. I needed that. I wanted his fury to match my own. I was panting as heavily as Hatta, but I was far more focused and alert. I was afraid, too, but not nearly as much as he and for completely different reasons. I only feared what my failure might cost my brother and my party. Hatta was afraid of the dark and the unknown that it might shelter. I probably should have been more afraid, but this past sennight had exhausted my capacity for fright.

Suddenly a chilling battle-cry tore through the night and screams - Ettin screams - filled the air. The faint sound of the struggle going on behind us increased and I felt a thrill and delight. Kanell had joined the fray. He and Xati were the only possible explanations for the uproar.

"You and your Narnian freaks won't win," gasped Hatta, sounding as if he was more intent on bolstering his own flagging nerve than intimidating me. He swung again, showering me with sharp splinters and shards of rock. I was forced back as more tiles fell, barely missing me. The chase was on and he drove me behind the next pillar, laughing in sadistic delight as he imagined that he had me on the run. "I'll kill you and eat you as I would have eaten your brother."

I froze where I stood, my back pressed against cold stone. He had tried to _eat_ Peter?

"I would have cut his throat and lapped his blood before I ate every bit of flesh from his bones," taunted Hatta, unknowingly playing with fire. "Valerlan stopped me, but you'll do just as well, Blood Heir."

An icy calm filled me, the smoldering fury Oreius so admired and cultivated so carefully. I blessed the general for being such a merciless taskmaster as his constant litany on how to engage the enemy echoed in my mind: _Keep them off balance. King Edmund, you're small and slight - get inside his defenses! You can use your sword and he can't! _

By the Lion that was not to be tolerated! Not so long as I endured. Pushing off from my hiding place and clinging tight to the deep shadows, I circled around to approach Hatta from his left, shifting my broken sword to my off hand. He carried the club in his right hand and he was too close in amongst the pillars to effectively swing it. A moment was all I needed. Just one . . .

He spotted me, movement in the shadows, but his faulty vision and the darkness made him misjudge his target. Unable to raise the club for a backhanded blow, he spun around in a tight circle, hissing at the strain on his wounded leg and making up distance as he smashed the bludgeon down onto the spot where I had been. I was moving before he was, running straight at the Ettin for all I was worth. I raised Shafelm II high as the club crashed to the floor behind me, exposing Hatta's bare arm. The jagged steel of Peter's gift to me bit deeply, cutting through thick skin and flesh. My arm was jarred and the damaged end tugged at my shoulder, but I never stopped moving as I dragged the weapon up his arm. The blade sliced, the broken tip tore. In the same motion I slashed him across the shin. My second strike did little except snap off a chunk of the blade along the rift running through it, but the primary attack was very effective indeed. I used my momentum and kept running straight past him, deeper into the murky room. I leaped over broken stone and skidded to a halt behind the pillar where I had almost been hit by the falling roof tiles.

At first Hatta didn't seem to realize what had happened. I waited breathlessly for something - anything - to happen, and then a frenzy of pain seized him. With a howling cry that rivaled the screams from out in the courtyard he went berserk, swinging the club with wild, agonized abandon. Great streams of dust fell down as he pounded the pillars, and he howled with indignation when bits of the roof struck him in the head. He was out of control, screaming for my blood as he rushed my position. I fled back as a stream of timber and tiles rained down between us.

He was in a quandary. On the open floor he could swing the club, but so long as I stayed close to the wall he could not easily catch me. Pressing his bleeding arm against his chest, he thrust the club at me like a lance. Left-handed, his vision impaired, he only succeeded in striking the pillar in front of me.

It cracked.

There must have been some flaw in the stone, some tiny opening that allowed moisture in over the years. The crevice would have grown as each winter more water penetrated and froze, swelling the crack and weakening the stone internally. I looked up. The surface of the column should have been smooth but I could see that its silhouette against the moonlight showed a ragged line. The whole middle section of the stone had been driven back a few vital inches.

Hatta laughed a loud, crazed bray, belatedly coming to the same idea I had, though perhaps not thinking it out as thoroughly. His mission to fetch help was completely forgotten in the rush of his pain and fury. My mission to stop him was foremost in my mind.

"Bloody bastard king!" he bellowed, ramming the pillar again. I backed up against the wall, tensed and ready to run for my life. The tortured stone groaned under its injuries and weight. I had to move lest it topple and crush me. Hatta wavered back and forth, keeping me in sight, waiting for me to move before striking, his club at the ready. He could not have realized what would happen if he felled the pillar. That or he no longer cared.

Suddenly there came the sound of monstrous boots scuffing the stone and Storr blundered into the hall. He was blubbering and terrified and he stumbled across the floor towards the elder Giant. It was evident the ongoing fight had made little headway in sobering him. He had been wounded and there were bloodstains on his clothing, dark and wet in the moonlight.

"Hatta! Haigha's dead! A horse-thing killed him! The others are falling! We have to save Valerlan!"

I bolted for the door the moment Hatta glanced up at the half-witted prince. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I ran as fast as I could along the wall, Shafelm's remains clutched in my hand. The sword was all but forgotten in my flight - speed was the only thing that could save me. Hatta let out a terrible shout and swung with all his formidable strength, striking the cracked pillar with so much force the stone column shattered into huge pieces that struck the next pillar high and low. An echoing boom like the one I had heard before filled the room as the roof began to collapse right over the spot where Hatta stood. Storr screamed and tried to reach him as the second pillar gave way, pulled down by the falling roof and its own weight.

That started it. Borne by momentum and ages of neglect, the pillars began to crumble one after the other. The roof showered down in a waterfall of stone and timber that pummeled and buried the two Ettins caught in its wake. Great clouds of dust filled the air and the floor shook at each impact. Falling stone shattered, peppering me with shrapnel. There was no time to look back as Storr screamed in panicked desperation, only to be suddenly silenced. All I knew was the movement of my legs, the sound of my gasping breaths, and door that was my salvation.

It seemed an eternity, but in truth it was just a matter of seconds before I stood gasping and coughing in the yard outside the ruined hall. Rubble filled half the doorway, but I crept forward and peered into the gloom. The roof was gone and moonlight streamed in. Almost all the pillars that had stood on the right side of the room were demolished and the roof had collapsed. The wall and pillars to the left still stood, naked to the sky now and looking like the rib cage of some unfortunate monster. Heavy gray dust was settling, coating me and the broken rock and the two mounds of unmoving bulk that had once been Ettins.

There was no way to tell if they were still alive, but if they were I was certain they would regret it. I had no desire to check. It was too dangerous to enter that mound of debris and Peter had only said to stop them, and I had kept my word.

Something squirmed beneath my clothes. I reached down my tunic back between my shoulder blades and Twilth seized my fingers, allowing me to haul him out of his shelter. I stared at him. He was the only thing about me that was clean. He stared back at me with wide-eyed awe, fuzzy and disheveled at once.

"You stopped him, Majesty!"

Every inch of me ached and I felt a dozen or more spots where I had been pelted by flying stones. I was sure I was bleeding where splinters of wood and stone had sliced through my tunic, though I was so filthy it was impossible to tell as much at the moment. I spit at the dust and grit coating my lips and getting into my mouth, puffing out my reply.

"Hatta . . . did the job for me. Come on . . . Peter needs to see I'm . . . unharmed and I'm sure they won't say no . . . to more help."


	30. Sword and Shield, Jewel and Song

**_Interlude: Sword and Shield, Jewel and Song_ **

_'They said that of all the kings upon the earth  
he was the man most gracious and fair-minded,  
kindest to his people and keenest to win fame.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 3180 - 3182

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_We all heard different callings in Narnia, different voices of the land and air that drew us forth, made us part of what we loved more than life. The land was wild and deep, with great mountains, dense forests, clear waters and an endless sky. There were secrets in the land, riches below it, joy and delight in the very air we breathed that mingled with the smell of salt air and cedar forests. Each season had its own beauty, its own colors, its own celebrations and music and dances._

_We were connected to the land, bound to it. We flowed with the waters be they salt or sweet. We danced in the rain and raced with the wind. When duty called we presided over a court that was as grand as it was beautiful, a golden palace set high on a hill against the sea. We welcomed foreigners that looked with awe upon the exotic and beautiful citizens that served us, as they wondered at the harmony between the youthful rulers before them and the bountiful land beneath their feet. Great scholars and scientists and storytellers, artists and musicians, warriors and sages and craftsmen flocked to Cair Paravel. Each was as welcome as the everyday citizen who entered our hall simply to wish us good day._

_It was glorious existence, a wondrous time, as golden as the mane of the Lion that set us upon the Four Thrones and said that once a king or queen of this land, always a king or queen. It was a deeper promise, a deeper magic than any of us realized. Only now, as I sit within my room in the true Cair Paravel, in the true Narnia, chronicling a history of the Golden Age, can I understand the gravity and strength of Aslan's word. _

_Problems arose, as they will as we journey through life, and they almost always seemed worse as they were happening. Our troubles only made us hold our blessings to be dearer still and made the ties that connected us to each other and to Narnia stronger. Our lives were not perfect, but whose is? There is nothing I would have changed, because every moment was more precious than the next, an unfettered, beautiful, joyous existence. We were living history in a world of myths and legends, growing closer as we grew older until we _were_ Narnia, and our glory and greatness was but a reflection of hers. We had our titles from Aslan – Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant – but the world around us gave each of us titles that suited us just as well: Sword and Shield, Jewel and Song._

_It was music that called to Lucy, the tug of moonlight drawing her like the tide to venture forth into the woods and dance with the Dryads and Nymphs and Fauns. When the rest of us were exhausted and fell to the side to ease our feet, she could dance on and on, carried by the haunting music and complex steps until she fell into a kind of trance that was beautiful to see. More than once I had seen her wear out dancing slippers in a single night, and Peter would carry her home because her feet were raw. She never complained because she was grateful we only made a fuss at her, never admonished her or forbade her from overindulging in what she loved most._

_At first it bothered her that I had a much better ear for music and truer pitch than she did. Her voice was sweet but not outstanding, and so she concentrated on musical instruments. There are as many types of musical instruments in Narnia – great horns played by the Centaurs, Dwarfish drums, huge booming things, pipes and flutes and lyres and guitars and recorders and fiddles – as there are types of music. There were cute country songs handed down through generations and majestic compositions. All were welcome in our court because all of them were part of Narnia. Lucy mastered several instruments but her favorite was always the little flutes preferred by the Fauns and she could play such lullabies that when I heard them I would struggle to stay awake so I could listen longer. And so she was the Song of Narnia, sweet and charming or sweeping and mighty, but once you encountered her, unforgettable._

_For Susan, that sensible, nurturing, gentle-hearted queen, living in Narnia allowed her to provide for the people around her. Be it food or comfort or shelter or her hand to a soldier for a dance, her greatest joy was sharing what she had and what she was with everyone. The more she could do the happier she seemed and the lovelier she grew until her beauty and graciousness were renowned throughout the world. Great kings and mighty princes would beg her favors and her hand, but she never found that certain man that understood as deeply as we did her joy in being able to give away everything in order to gain the whole world. Many people underestimated the strength she possessed, but she was like water: quiet, gradual, and inexorable, capable of wearing down mountains of resistance. She was the Jewel of Narnia, the Jewel in the Crown, her surface beauty but an echo of the dazzling beauty within her loving, caring soul._

_Science and law were my callings and I pursued all aspects of those subjects as ardently as a bee gathers pollen. Under my learned teachers and the wisest heads in Narnia I refined the knowledge I gained until I was fit to be a judge and preside over Narnia's courts. From scientists and craftsmen I learned not only their passions and trades, but diplomacy and wit and how to talk to all races and all classes. I found teachers and instruction everywhere, from reserved, civilized debates with the Centaur philosophers and the many Owls in Parliament to my old Dwarf friend Brickit of the Blue River Smithy roaring at me to fetch more coal for the forge. Like the steel I helped shape into weapons, my teachers formed me until I was well-spoken, clever, and almost as wise as they, versed in science, knowledgeable and just in law, and formidable in battle. Time and again I placed myself between Narnia and those that would do her or my family harm, using words and tact and sometimes my sword in order to defend what I loved, and so they called me Narnia's Shield._

_And then there was Peter. _

_It was the sword that commanded Peter, almost as thoroughly as he commanded it._

_At first it amazed me that my gentle, loving, ever-worrying brother would thrive on the training grounds, but Peter took to swordplay just as a Bird takes to wing until amazement turned to awe. I was no slacker when it came to our training, but I had to work at honing my skills whereas fighting came naturally to Peter. He was at home with a sword in his hand. Kind though he was, wise and merciful, he had been born to fight and he rose to the calling with so much skill and daring that it was almost frightening._

_He was a selfless person. To him the rules of fair play and the laws of war were of the utmost importance and he abided by them even when his enemy did not. His mere presence on the field was often enough to intimidate an adversary into seeking a parley and his reputation for honesty and deadly ability had established Narnia as the most powerful and respected nation in the world. Peter, like Narnia, was the best, most honorable of allies and the most dependable of friends. _

_Sir Peter Wolfsbane. Lord of Cair Paravel. Emperor of the Lone Islands. _

_The High King over all Kings, under the Highest King, under the Emperor. _

_My king. My brother. My friend._

_If I was Narnia's Shield, Peter was her Sword. _

_And under the moon of Ettinsmoor, that dark and terrible night, Narnia's Sword was loosed upon our foes._


	31. A King to Battle

**Chapter Thirty: A King to Battle**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The title of this chapter is derived from J. Dunbar Hylton's poem _Atreloise_, and the stanza was as fitting as the quote from _Beowulf_:

_Though he a king to battle trained,  
Whose soul ne'er thought of fear contained,  
Whose prowess had, in deadly fray,  
Slain fiercest giants of his day ..._

My thanks to Miniver for her outstanding (and timely!) assistance.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'. . . the outlandish thing  
writhed and convulsed and viciously  
turned on the king, whose keen-edged sword,  
an heirloom inherited by ancient right,  
was already in hand. Roused to a fury,  
each antagonist struck terror in the other.  
Unyielding, the lord of his people loomed  
by his tall shield, sure of his ground.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 2560 - 2567

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It's strange how in battle you lose all feeling. There is no pain, no fear, no thought. Time flows differently, sometimes faster and sometimes slower. All that is left is urgency and instinct and if you have served them well in the training grounds, they will serve you well in the field.

The problem, the horror of fighting Ettins, I soon discovered, is that there is that much _more_ of them to kill. They are hideously enormous beings, clumsy only in that their size makes them appear slower. Have you ever tried to capture a mouse or a bird with your hands? It should by all rights be a simple task, but both creatures are small and able to maneuver so quickly it seems impossible. The same was true of the Narnians fighting the Ettins. Lithe and fearless and experienced warriors all, the soldiers proved themselves against our foes, each attacking according to their specialty or species. The problem with attacking something so huge, though, is getting in range to strike without being struck yourself. In the end, speed and agility will win over size, large or small.

I ran at Valerlan amidst the shrieks and howls of battle, intent only on reaching him and making him pay for what he had done to Narnia, to my guard, to Jett, to me, but the path to him was no longer clear. An Ettin guardsman, panicked by the Bats swarming about his head, staggered into my way. I struck out with Rhindon, feeling a familiar impact jar my arm as the sleek blade cut through his leather shin guards and into his leg. Attacked from above and below and clumsy with drink, he tripped on the uneven ground and crashed heavily to the earth before me. Instantly I pressed the advantage, finding a gap in his crude plate armor right above his waist. There was something revolting about stabbing a being so large but I neither hesitated nor recoiled. Rhindon slid along bone and then plunged deeply into softer flesh before I yanked my sword free, dragging it downwards so as to inflict as much damage as I could in that motion.

He stared at me in shock and I recognized the guard that had brought me food earlier. That I might rise up against them had never once occurred to him, and even as it was happening he still refused to believe. Pain and a gush of hot blood drove the truth home and he let out a scream, gripping his side. He struggled to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away but even as he raised his head Gicelus and Pauton let loose with a volley of arrows at almost point-blank range. The Giant's gurgling bellow rent the air and he collapsed, clutching his face and writhing. He was far more dangerous wounded than hale and we scrambled out of the way of his flailing arms and legs.

The distraction would cost me, for Valerlan was lumbering back to the fire to seize his war club. He was the only one of his kind to keep his wits about him and his desperate shouts to the others to arm themselves went unheeded. All around us, chaos reigned as my rescuers attacked. I could hear Animal cries and shouts from the archers echoing off the stone walls, a rush and tumult of confusion and frenzy.

I was still skirting around the writhing, expiring guard when I saw that Valerlan had reached the bonfire and laid hold of a club. He instinctively went for the weapon most familiar to him, but war clubs are not the best choice for infighting. They're long range weapons, meant for knocking down opponents that are a distance away, not close in upon you. That was one advantage I had. Another advantage was that I was used to fighting a wide range of creatures in every size imaginable, from Mouse to Elephant. True I had never fought a Giant before, but I had fought Kanell and he was gigantic even by Centaur standards.

And finally, unlike Valerlan, I was not afraid. There was no room in my heart for fear. Raw fury filled me to overflowing. It was not anger, not hysteria, but a ferocity the likes of which I had never experienced before. It was a savage and assured feeling, like some confident beast coiled up in my breast getting ready to spring the moment it was freed. I didn't like it, but it was mine and I would use it to the fullest extent.

Valerlan laid hold of a club and whirled to face me, suddenly brave again as wine and a familiar weapon loaned him courage. He took a fighting stance and let out a challenging shout, brandishing the club. I later learned that by tradition Giantish combat is a highly ritualized affair with much posturing and noise, so Valerlan was merely fighting as he had been taught. In Narnia the only ritual we require is that someone attacks us first - after that all restraints are lifted and the onslaught can begin.

I ignored his shouts, ignored his showmanship, and went straight for him, just as I had been taught. When Rhindon, still bloodied from its first match, caught him low on the leg and left a shallow cut on his thigh, Valerlan roared out his offense. He smashed the club down but I was already gone, darting out of range as I tried to assess what it was I was up against. It was going to be very difficult to land a fatal blow, whereas one well-aimed shot or kick from him could do me in instantly.

He heaved the massive club up with a grunt, getting ready to strike again and watching me with dulled, bloodshot eyes. The heavy drink was slowing his motions and fouling his aim and I knew this was the delay I had so fervently prayed for earlier. Abruptly he lunged, bringing the bludgeon down faster than I would have thought possible. I imitated his motion, moving in on him. The club landed with a familiar thud on the soft ground and when his arm was extended I stayed my run and chopped Rhindon down on the bared flesh of his arm.

Suddenly all the wind was knocked out of my lungs as he seized me from behind with his left hand, his huge fingers trying to squeeze the life out of me. My ribs ached in protest and with a brutish grunt and a shout of pain I shifted my grip on Rhindon and stabbed the sword past my right hip and into the heel of his hand. He tried to hold on to his prize but my bite was too deep. Yanking the blade free I stabbed him again, harder and with more spectacular results as the long blade went straight through his wrist.

He threw me down as if I was a hot coal, but I didn't lose my grip until the last moment and Rhindon clattered to the stone beside me. I dove and snatched up the sword, rolling to gain some distance and better ground. Valerlan drew well away, his back almost to the wall of the keep. I drew in heavy, rasping breaths, trying to restore the oxygen to my body. Across the short distance separating us we glared at each other with undisguised hatred.

"You are dead, Narnia," swore the Ettin prince.

I snorted, not about to waste my breath pointing out the obvious falsehood of that statement. I had not endured this long to crumble now. With a lusty cry he charged, running straight at me with his lumbering gait. I dodged to the side and he stumbled and whirled around, already shifting his course to trample me. I kept moving, unable to get close enough to strike but quite capable of chipping away at his self-control and making him furious. I was the annoying mouse that kept eluding his grasp. For a while I managed to avoid him, drawing him back closer to the noisy combat going on in the center of the courtyard. I saw the small, dark form of a Dwarf sprawled motionless in the grass and the Bats were concentrating their attacks on Storr. The elder prince was screaming in panic, terrified by the flapping wings and piercing shrieks and trying desperately to escape.

Then Valerlan smiled, betraying himself and whomever it was about to attack me from behind. I threw myself to the side as a huge sword smacked into the earth where I had been, lodging deeply in the earth. Unable to yank his sword free quickly enough, the Ettin guard, one of the younger ones, swatted at me desperately. His hand brushed my shoulder and knocked me flat into the dirt and dust. For the second time the wind was knocked out of me and I struggled to rise and face this new, closer attacker. He snarled at me, his free hand going for his knife. He was near enough to use the wicked-looking blade effectively on me and I couldn't gain my feet fast enough to escape.

"Narnia!" I called out as best I could, desperate for assistance.

Out of the darkness beyond the main doors came an angry, high-pitched battle cry and the sound of thundering hooves. Seconds later Xati, that glorious little combination of outstanding skill and bloodthirsty attitude all rolled into one Centaur mare, ran full-tilt into the keep.

_"Down!" _she commanded and I threw myself flat. There was a rush of sound and air as she leaped right over my head and attacked the guard with two swords and four hooves and enough fury for ten Centaurs. There was a heavier rush just behind her and Kanell shot past me. His huge broadsword swiped at Xati's opponent, laying the Ettin's calf open, before he charged straight on into Haigha, saving a handful of archers that were being menaced and bowling the Giant clean over at they impacted. Haigha, in his depleted condition, did not stand a chance against a sword master and the captain of Cair Paravel's guard. When Kanell emerged his sword was bloodied afresh and Haigha did not stir again. Immediately he made for the next Ettin, screaming out a challenge.

Storr suddenly snapped, and in a frenzy of mindless panic he ran off, striking a wall in his blind rush. His sobs could be heard echoing off the walls. The Bats pursued him as he fumbled his way deeper into the keep, harrowing his every step.

"Storr!" cried Valerlan, taking a few paces towards him. A cloud of angry Bats drove him back and he raised his arm to shield his eyes.

At the same instant a shout of fury escaped Xati. Clambering to my feet, I saw her in the grips of the Ettin guard. He was actually lifting her up in both hands and dragging her towards him. With a laugh at her struggles he opened his huge mouth, clearly intending to bite her head off, the fool. She neither succumbed to fear nor flinched. In the flash of an eye her bow was loosed from across her back and with a mighty creak of wood she notched two arrows, drawing the string back to her ear as she took aim despite her predicament. The Ettin was straining under her weight and about to take a bite when she let loose. The arrows vanished inside his gaping mouth. There was a pause, and then he gasped, his arms falling. He dropped her clumsily as both of his hands went to his throat. Kanell was there to steady her, flashing the mare a swift smile as her victim reeled. Gagging, wheezing, he looked to Valerlan for help, but the crown prince was already occupied with warding off my renewed attack.

The few moments of reprieve - no more than a minute's time - left me with renewed energy and lust to do battle. I ran straight at Valerlan, the Bats scattering out of my way like leaves on the wind. I needed to inflict some damage in order to slow him down. Thus far I had nicked and cut him, but save for the stab through his wrist I had yet to cause any lasting damage.

As I was learning, there was just so much of him to kill.

Then a mighty rumble filled the air and we all staggered as the ground beneath out feet trembled. Valerlan whirled, our fight momentarily suspended as he looked to the source of the noise. As we watched a huge cloud of dust rose up from the heart of the keep, driving the Bats away for a span, and the roof on the center hall collapsed, the stone roaring and groaning as it broke. It was an alarming, terrific sight, over in seconds, and I had but one thought in my head:

_Edmund. _

If my brother had been caught in that cascade I knew I would forever lose my balance and anchor. There was no time to indulge in the sick feeling that gripped me. The only thought in my head was for bloody-minded retribution. If Edmund was lost to me I would tear down every stone of this keep and then do the same to the Ettin kingdom. This I swore and I prayed for the sake of the Ettin race that their prince alone would be the one to pay the price.

Valerlan took a step towards the wreckage, helplessly reaching out as a wild cry was torn from his throat. _"Storr!" _

His guard was down, his attention focused on the cloud of dust rising into the night.

I attacked, jabbing upwards at his exposed arm. Rhindon's point nicked him, yanking Valerlan back to his immediate concern of _me_. He hissed and stepped away but I followed, driving him back and worrying him with my sword every step of the way back towards the fire. Angry, he tried to smash me with his club. He missed, and the huge tree trunk came down upon some of the logs stacked by the fire. They shattered, spraying out in a barrage of splinters as dangerous to him as to me. I gasped and staggered as I felt a six-inch sliver drive into my thigh. Without thinking, I took a hand off Rhindon and yanked the shaft of wood out, throwing it aside. I could feel smaller cuts on my forehead and arm and I ignored them. I had no time to be hurt. Valerlan saw me remove the splinter and he smiled in satisfaction at the sight of blood on my face and leg as I stepped back into a fighting stance.

His sadistic pleasure reignited my fury. A scream of pain rang out - a Faun or Satyr, I couldn't tell - but I didn't glance away. I didn't dare, lest he use my own tactics against me and attack in that moment of distraction. I didn't know how many of the Ettins were still alive nor yet how many of my own soldiers were still fighting. All my thoughts and energy were focused on Valerlan. I stood close by the first Ettin I had downed. He made for a huge, motionless mass behind and to the side of me. The fire burned lower now, casting Valerlan in silhouette and his shadow made him seem that much more colossal and misshapen. There was motion all around us, Animal cries and grunts and moans and curses and the sound of Bat wings filled the night, but for me there was naught but the Ettin prince and my desire to finish him. Rhindon was not yet heavy in my grasp as I stared at my enemy, and the wild beast within me tore at its cage.

_"NOW!"_ screamed Valerlan to someone past me.

An echoing shout behind me answered: _"NO!"_

I started to turn . . .

_"NARNIA!" _

. . . and suddenly Edmund was there, right at my back, defending me from the fallen Ettin's grouping hand, his battle cry splitting the night. I caught a fleeting glimpse of him. He looked as if he had been rolled in flour and he wielded two short swords, fending off the wounded Giant with all the boldness and tenacity of a horsefly.

"Go!" he shouted to me, kicking and slashing at the Giant. "Go! He's mine!"

My brother was alive and fit and I needed nothing more.

Neither did Valerlan.

Seeing my brother, Jadis' Blood Heir, he sensed his own brother was lost. Rage and anguish and manic loathing filled his features. It seemed he and I had one thing in common after all: we loved our brothers absolutely.

"Damn you," whispered Valerlan as the whole of his folly and loss became clear. _"Damn you!" _

He arched the club overhead, aiming not at me but at Edmund. I shoved Edmund bodily away, dragging him out of range with my own weight and momentum and taking care not to stab or be stabbed in my zeal. The club came crashing down on the spot where he had been standing, pulverizing the wounded Giant's arm with a spattering of blood and gore. A scream of agony rose from the Ettin's throat, deafening us.

"Go!" bellowed Edmund, picking himself up from our tangle of limbs and swords. "Go!"

I went.

And the raging beast within tore free and consumed me.


	32. Magnificent

**Chapter Thirty-One: Magnificent**

_'His spirit did not break and the ancestral blade  
would keep its edge, as the dragon discovered  
as soon as they came together in combat.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 2628 - 2630

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Go!" I shouted, waving Peter away. "Go!"

He never hesitated, just as I hadn't. I didn't so much see him race off to face Valerlan as I sensed his absence from my side seconds later. I was too focused on my opponent to catch any of the fight, but I heard Peter let out a terrific shout that sent a chill down my spine. I knew the sound, the tone. I had heard it at Beruna and at Aslan's How.

The torrent of emotion built up inside Peter had broken past his barricades. I knew what would happen – he would go until every bit of energy and strength his possessed was consumed, burning brighter than a star until he was exhausted or the enemy was vanquished. Valerlan's attempt to kill me had sealed his doom. The prince might not care about his own fate any longer, but Peter fought with such passion precisely because he cared so very deeply for me and for Narnia.

My Ettin lay on his side in a pool of blood that turned the earth to foul, stinking mud. Pride in his cunning had been replaced by fear as he realized I would not tolerate his interference with my brother's battle, and then Valerlan's ill-timed blow with his club had reduced him to a gasping, pain-crazed frenzy. He could not stand and his flailing about was weak for one of his kind. He swiped at me with his good hand, fumbling about on the ground, and I darted back. How was I to kill something so horribly big?

"Pin him!" shouted Kanell from across the court. "Pin his hand!"

Without thinking – because if I had given it a thought I doubt that I would have been able to do it – I dropped Shafelm and gripped the secondary sword I had picked up from the battleground with both hands. I slammed it down with all my strength, driving the point through the fleshy span between his thumb and forefinger and straight into the ground below. It was a revolting sensation for all parties concerned, like stabbing a huge hunk of meat, but I didn't care – far better to be revolted than crushed. The Ettin howled anew, pulling at the spike holding him, his attention focused fully on his hand so that he missed Kanell when the Centaur lunged.

I was glad it was dark enough that I couldn't see the blow from where I stood. Kanell grunted, blood splashed, and with a sickening gurgle the guard stilled, dead.

Yanking the sword free, I scooped up Shafelm, not looking at the mess and gore and steam rising up from the slain Ettin. Two Giants besides Valerlan were left and both of them were wounded, though lightly. I glanced back behind me, torn. Peter or my soldiers? My brother or the ones we served? Who to help? Which to be - king or brother?

I had not been faced by such decisions often, but when they arose the full weight of kingship pressed down upon my shoulders with crushing force. Did I risk losing Peter to Valerlan's fury or did I help my troop against the remaining Ettins? Lion forgive me, but it was a terrible decision to weigh.

But . . . I had lead them here. They came at my order. I could not, would not abandon them now.

After a second of hesitation I turned my feet and ran towards the last two Giants. Why was it so much harder to run after Kanell than it had been to chase after Hatta? I felt as if I was leaving my heart behind me and for one terrible moment I felt a weakness, a fear, that Peter would need me and I wouldn't be there. No matter what I did, what I chose, I would be endangering people who depended upon me and whom I held dear.

_Don't ever fear failure, Sir Edmund How,_ I heard Oreius' stern voice in my mind. _Far better to try and fail rather than regret never having tried at all._

_Would that there were two of me, General_, I thought, forcing my legs to move despite my reluctant thoughts. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the rest of my troop, exhaustion and emotion leeching my strength until I shoved these feelings aside as I had been taught and concentrated on the battle before me. If my breaths were short then so was my patience. I wanted this conflict over _now_. Immediately, so I could go help my brother. I wanted to be away from Loy and Ettinsmoor, for everyone to survive, for this desire to break and panic to be just a distant memory.

It was darker in this corner of the courtyard, the fire was too far away and diminished to be of much help and so we fought by the light of the moon and stars, close and bright even here over Ettinsmoor. The two remaining Ettins were on their feet, close together and armed with swords, their plate armor made them very obvious in the moonlight. I had no way of knowing if it was luck or skill that had kept them alive so long, but they were desperate, a feeling I could understand. The Narnians hung back, well out of range of those blades. A quick glance showed me only about half our original troop present, and I was almost daunted by the absence of so many. My heart seemed to skip a beat when I could not account for them all on the spot. I later learned that a few had perished, more were wounded, and Athan had sent Shikov to collect injured Bats from off the field since the Boar was not an effective fighter against Giants.

"We need to get past those swords," growled Flinder viciously, his sharp teeth bared. He was bloodied in a few spots and there were long hairs caught between his toes from where he had savaged one Ettin or another. I glanced at those still standing - Nex, Onela, Brant, Athan, the Centaurs, the Dwarf archer Glendco and lastly Sylvus, a Faun archer. As to the rest I had no idea, but we needed to sell our lives far more dearly now that there were so few of us.

Flinder was right. Unskilled as they were - both Ettins had fallen back against the far wall and were using their swords more like clubs than a bladed weapon - they were extremely dangerous and unpredictable beings. Both were clearly frightened, never having been attacked in such a way before. We were at a bit of a standoff, and I finally glanced at Athan, who was closest to me.

"Bats worked once; do you think they'll work again?"

His smile was all the answer I needed, and clearly he thought as I did: if they were simple enough to panic once, they would most likely panic again. I drew back, scanning the sky and being careful not to get too far away lest any of the other Ettins, each as large as a beached whale, were not quite as dead as they appeared. I thrust the two swords into the dirt before me and spread my arms.

"Kori Mivven!" I called into the night. "Kori!"

Moments later the eldest of Pa'ala's grandsons swept out of the sky and landed on my shoulders and head without ceremony.

"Orders?" he demanded as I gathered him carefully in my hands for a quick launch.

"On my shout, have everyone stream right into their faces with as much noise as you can manage. We need to take them down!"

"Done!" he cried in his zeal and I gently tossed him skywards. He vanished instantly into the darkness. I seized upon my swords, Shafelm so unbalanced in my grip, and I cast a desperate glance in the direction Peter had taken. They were not in sight from where I stood with the uneven ground and keep wall and huge bodies blocking my view. I wasted no more time wishing, but hurried back to the soldiers. I was just in time to see one of the Ettins lunge and snatch up Nex in his huge hand. The Satyr struggled and fought and the remaining archers let loose with a volley right into the Ettin's face. One arrow pierced the edge of his eye and he screamed, bodily throwing Nex against the stone wall. With a sickening crunch the archer crumbled, his neck broken. I let loose a shout of indignation and horror and without hesitation I yelled into the night,

"Now, Kori! Now!"

Like a river of dark waters the cloud of Bats descended. The sound was even louder than their initial attack and since they were so many against just two they were concentrated that much more. The Ettins tried to fend them off to no avail. It must have been a horrible experience but I felt not a moment's pity, but wished them even more terror. Screaming, scratching, clawing at the Giants' ragged hair, the Bats struck with so much force that one Ettin fell back. Knocked off balance in every way, he staggered to the ground and smashed his head against the wall of Loy Keep with enough momentum and violence that there was a smear of blood on the stone as he fell. The second Ettin panicked and broke away, roaring out his fear as he raced to the other side of the yard towards the main entrance and Valerlan. I whirled around, my heart in my throat as I set off after him.

_Peter!_

The remaining Narnians swarmed over the downed guard. I barely noticed. My only thought was for my brother. He could not fight two Ettins at once. He was too small, too tired, and the Ettins were frenzied. I dodged among the bodies of the fallen, jumping over sprawled limbs, sliding in the bloody mud, trying not to breathe in and smell the spilt blood and gore. The distance seemed to increase with every step and the very ground of the Ettin keep seemed to try to slow me down. I passed Haigha, as miserable in death as he had been in life, passed the still and cooling bodies of a Satyr and a Faun. There was naught I could do for them now. I could not even think of their names. There was room in my thoughts for only one name.

_Peter._

There was no way he could hold them off . . . no way . . .

_Great Aslan, protect him._

I could hear the Ettin in front of me, his ragged breaths and heavy steps betraying his location. He was moving far faster than I could hope to. He would reach them first. He would tip the scales in Valerlan's favor . . .

_No, he would_ not.

With a wild cry of my own I put on a burst of speed. My lungs were fit to burst, my legs burned, and the two swords weighed me down. It made no difference. Nothing could at this point. I had come too far to lose Peter. Not to the Ettins. Not to Valerlan. My brother was not theirs to take.

Arriving upon the field, I stumbled to a halt, gasping for air and trying to see clearly. They were before me, king and prince, illuminated by the fire. For the moment I was the soul witness to this combat . . . this vengeance . . . this revenge.

Peter fought as we had been taught, every movement smooth and elegant, no wasted motions. I could tell he was conserving his energy because he made every strike count. They could not have been more different, these two.

Valerlan was tall and ragged and misshapen, his body in constant motion as if he would dart in any direction at any time, crude and perverse, the desperate son of a people that didn't know they were desperate. Just out of range of the Palish Giant stood my brother. Tiny by comparison to his foe, he was slim and graceful, balanced in a fighting stance with his long sword held in both hands before him. Even through all his trials it was clear he was a king. He was as magnificent as Valerlan was foul.

I saw a shadow detach itself from the wall off to my right. It was the Ettin guard. He loomed so huge I wondered how I could have missed him, and as I drew a breath to shout a warning he heaved his sword over his head to kill Peter.

"_Behind you!"_ I screamed, my voice shrill. _"Peter, behind!"_

He did not retreat, but he pivoted neatly around, stepping into the guard's range and swinging his sword in a wide, high arc. The Giant's arms were raised so far above his block of a head that his plate armor shifted upwards, exposing his belly.

Peter never hesitated, and Rhindon's bite was long and deep and deadly.

Peter finished the strike and went right back to Valerlan. The guard dropped his sword behind him, wavering, and then he crashed to his knees, clutching his middle with both hands. Inarticulate sounds escaped his mouth and blood frothed on his lips. In the golden glow of the fire I caught a glimpse of the shock and desperation to live on his face before he pitched forward in the dirt to perish in his own blood and entrails. Peter never even glanced behind, the Ettin but a minor distraction between him and his real goal.

I looked to Valerlan, alone now against his victim, this captive that turned out to be not-so-helpless and who lashed out at those that did him harm. There was more anger than fear in the prince's face, but it was a wild, reckless anger, an uncontrollable tempest. And Peter . . . for all his outward calm he wore an expression I had never seen on his face before: hate. His very composure was frightening. Valerlan was too upset to see it, but Peter had never been more dangerous and threatening than he was at this moment.

And in all his fury and might, he was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.


	33. Of Rage and Ruin

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Of Rage and Ruin**

A/N: More violence and blood. Be warned, my dears!

_'. . . a wildness rose  
in the dragon again and drove it to attack,  
heaving up fire, hunting for enemies,  
the humans it loathed.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 2669 - 2672

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Go! Go!"

Edmund knew. Praise the Lion; he understood that I needed to do this alone. Untangling myself, I clambered to my feet. Edmund waved me on, turning to face the Ettin guard menacing us as he shouted,

"Go! Go! He's mine!"

I believed him.

_Aslan, guard him . . . _

And I went.

Valerlan ran from me, the coward, lumping away on his uneven legs. Clearly his level of courage depended upon wine and numbers and the power to bully those around him, not any desire to face that which he feared.

He feared me.

I have killed before. I have been in battles and skirmishes. I have hunted for food. There has always been just reason and respect behind my motivation to take a life.

Never once have I killed out of anger or hate. I have never wanted to.

Until now.

Valerlan had destroyed the Tree. He had helped pave the way for Jadis' tyranny. He had ordered Jett to be slaughtered. He had tried to kill my brother, _my_ king.

For all that and more, I wished to see this Ettin prince die.

By the fire he paused, a wicked gleam in his deep-set eyes as he swiped his club across the glowing embers and sent a hail of red-hot sparks down upon me. I felt points of pain that flared out almost instantly. With a laugh he swung again, scattering the fire, stopping me in my tracks. I shielded my face with my arms, ignoring the burns and shaking off the larger brands. I could not get near him. Not while he kept the fire between us.

So I would simply have to rob him of that luxury.

I stepped to the left, dragging my feet on the ground in order to feel my way as I went. With a little smirk on his face Valerlan moved to the right, keeping me across from him in some strange type of dance, the coward. The fire was broad, about ten feet across and reduced to a heap of glowing embers. Around us was scattered the bits and pieces of the Ettin's rough encampment – wine skins, equipment, the discarded war clubs, remnants of their last meal.

Another swipe and another cloud of sparks and smoke stirred up, driving me back and scattering the fire wider. I gasped as I felt the back of my neck burn and I slapped away the small brand that had landed there. Valerlan laughed like a child with a toy. Unwittingly he was reducing his own defenses as the starving fire was cast about.

Edging back to the right, I watched through narrowed eyes as Valerlan limped along opposite me, cocksure and arrogant. It was clear he had been in few conflicts where his opponents put up such resistance and his training had not prepared him for this; his moods shifted too quickly as his fortunes changed from one moment to the next. The crown prince did not know how to save his reactions until there was time to indulge in them. The wine he had consumed worked in my favor as well – even now, after all this conflict and his emotions running so high, Valerlan still showed signs of drunkenness.

He swung again, plowing up the earth and sending a rain of hot ash and dirt into the air amidst a huge, swirling gray cloud of vapor. Beneath that thick cover of sparks and smoke I darted around the fire, jumping the smoldering branches he had scattered. He was looking at the spot where I had been standing, and the instant he saw that I had moved he realized what he had done.

He had offered me an opportunity and I seized it.

I skirted the fire at a run, so close it felt as if I had been cast into a furnace. My eyes and nose burned and I could feel the intense heat of the ground through the soles of my boots. I dared not take a breath until I had rounded the blaze and then I let out an angry shout, shaking off the heat. Valerlan staggered back in alarm, fumbling for a better grip on his club. Without thinking I lashed out with Rhindon, driving him back. He avoided the blow, timing his own strike against mine and when the blade was furthest away from him, he swatted at me awkwardly with his free hand.

A jolt went through my shoulder and side and I was thrown to the ground a few yards away. I landed amidst churned up dirt and grass and discarded equipment. It was not the hardest thump I had ever received, but it left me seeing stars for a few moments and reminded me how very tired I was. It also served to remind exactly what it was I was up against.

A monster.

I regained my feet and fighting stance even as he seized upon his club. We glared at each other, nothing but our weapons and hatred between us. I was everything he wished to be and he was everything I despised the most.

_"Behind you! Peter, behind!" _

Edmund's harsh warning rang in my ears, desperate and strong and still alive despite the odds. I looked over my shoulder as I spun into my attacker, seeing naught but the target that presented itself as the Ettin guard raised his arms so far over his head his plate mail lifted up. Rhindon's keen tip was followed by a widening wake of red as I slashed across his belly. I never even saw him fall; I just felt the earth shake briefly beneath my feet. My focus was centered on Valerlan again and it was evident he did not relish my attentions.

He was alone now. Alone and desperate.

And I had my brother, my shield, at my back. I didn't need to see him to know he was there. Edmund held his ground, waiting and watching and ready to help, but only as a last resort.

With his presence, my fatigue and pain fell away, dropping from my shoulders like a cloak. My breathing steadied. A sense of calm more lethal than my fury filled me. There was no pity in my heart. Rage turned to detached and indifferent cunning.

I wasn't thinking _if_ I could destroy Valerlan, but what would be the best way _to_ destroy him.

My shadow fell long and dark across the no man's land separating us. Behind me the dying guard let out a deep, guttural wail as his life ebbed, a final protest against life's last promise. It was a sharp, animal sound and for one moment, a mere heartbeat, I was transported back to the shores of Lake Asher. I could see Storr dragging Jett, broken and bloodied and screaming in agony, across the lush green grass, leaving a wide streak of red on the ground. I could hear the laughter of the Ettins, amused as they were by torture; hear Valerlan's impatient, heartless order:

"_Just kill it!"_

Jett . . . she had trusted me and Valerlan had destroyed her because of it.

_Just . . . kill . . . it . . . _

It wasn't Valerlan's voice echoing in my mind, but my own.

I was moving before I realized it. A mindless desire to strike, to kill, to take back some of what had been stolen from me seized me. I saw red, though if it was the glow of the fire or Valerlan's blood or my own lust I could not say.

This frenzy caught the Giant by surprise. I was too close for him to use his club while I laid into him with Rhindon. I sensed rather than comprehended what I was doing: moving, evading, slashing, driving him back step by step. He tried to crush me under his heel, almost catching me as his huge foot slammed down. I stabbed his foot through his worn boot, driving the blade deep before yanking it free. With a shout he tried to break away, to escape, and without hesitation I attacked from the rear, striking the blow that would be his ruin.

He pivoted around, trying to turn away from me as if I would allow him to escape if he made it far enough. I saw my target, the back of his left knee, and I swung with all my strength. Rhindon sliced through muscle and tendons, crippling the Ettin prince. Valerlan fell, gasping in pain. I wondered if he felt quite as much agony as my horse had. He rolled with the injury, rising to his feet with the help of his club and heavily favoring his injured leg. The look he cast me was equal parts of amazement and dread.

Even here and now, I was nothing of what he expected.

With a snarl of rage he rallied himself as I dashed forward and he whipped the club around in a wide arc. I slid to a halt as the tree trunk smashed to the ground mere inches from me. The wind of its passing stirred my hair and the wide end of the bludgeon bit deeply into the earth at my feet. Catching his error, the Ettin shifted his grip and tried to swing the club into me in a sideways motion. It was an awkward and unwieldy move and had it worked he would have killed me.

His hand, slick with blood from Edmund's first strike, slipped off the smooth handle of his war club. He had tried to move too quickly, not realizing the tip of the club was buried in the sod. His hand was poised in the air as his weapon fell with a mighty crunch. I was moving before the motion was complete, swinging Rhindon downwards at his exposed torso, darting past him as my sword's deep and deadly strike ended this gross conflict and Valerlan's sad existence.

I whirled, ignoring the pain that shot up my leg as I forced myself to move, to attack, and to finish this and him. Rhindon sliced upwards in another blow, this time to the underside of his extended arm. Valerlan screamed, snatching his arm back, pinning his elbow against his side to stem two wounds at once. He staggered, turning to look at me with shock evident in his beady eyes.

I stepped back and away as Valerlan crashed to his knee, his hands clutching his middle, his club lying useless at his side. Blood seeped through his fingers and slowly he looked down at his gory hands and the gaping wound stretching from his chest to his hip. With effort he fell back instead of pitching forward into the filth, never once looking away from this tiny Human he had envied and despised in equal measure.

He stared at me with dying eyes, disbelief and sorrow written on his dirty features. He was home, amongst his own people and he was so much larger and stronger than I – how could I have triumphed over his strength? How had I endured more than he? Only now at the very end could he understand. It was not a matter of the strength of the arm wielding the sword, but rather the keenness of the blade that had done him in. His gross folly and lack of foresight only multiplied his grief.

I stood gasping and spent before the fallen prince as his hot blood turned the ground beneath my feet to mud. It would be over soon. He was bleeding too heavily to last much longer. Rhindon had proved its worth in the defense of Narnia once again.

Was he thinking of the promise I had made back in the throne room of Jadis' melting castle? I had warned him then. I had warned him all along. Only in death could he hear me, the fool. Stupid, ignorant, arrogant fool. I had warned him. Now his garrison was dead, his own life lost, his duty unfulfilled, and his people were left bereft of their prince and their hope.

Still panting heavily, I was almost sickened by the metallic stench of blood hanging so thick in the air that I could taste it on my tongue. I inched forward until I was close enough to lay the tip of my sword against his chest, never breaking eye contact. All the fight was gone from him, it seemed. All fight, all fire, all his dreams and plans. Gone. Fading along with my anger, streaming away like the blood flowing from his wounds.

"You," he whispered, a red froth bubbling up at his pale lips. "You have . . . killed . . . my people."

I felt my eyes narrow and the cold rage that had possessed me before washed over me anew. He accused _me_? _He_ held me responsible for this? He _dared_? I glared at him, my hand tightening on Rhindon's grip as I hissed,

"You killed mine first!"

And with all the strength and fury left to me, I drove my sword home into his heart.


	34. Hallowed Ground

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Hallowed Ground**

_'It was hard then on the young hero,  
having to watch one he held so dear  
there on the ground, going through  
his death agony . . .'_

- _Beowulf_, lines 2821-2824

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Peter?"

I struggled to make it around the huge body blocking my way. I stumbled, and glancing down I saw that I had tripped over a scraggly braid of hair thicker than rope. Raising my gaze, I found myself looking at Valerlan's bloodied face, composed in death and almost noble in a way. Foolish man, to have squandered his life and the opportunity that had been placed before him by letting his men kill Narnians! Had he truly been a good leader he would have prevented those murders and started a parlay for peace. Now . . . he hadn't just thrown away his own life, he had thrown away the future of the Ettin race, for where would they be without a king to lead them?

With a shake of my head I turned away, my pity reserved for those who deserved it. His party had murdered my cousins and assaulted and seized Peter without any declaration of hostilities or defiance. Death was the least they deserved. If nothing else Valerlan could serve as an example to anyone who would do harm to my king.

"Peter?"

On the other side of Valerlan, in a dejected heap, was my brother. Fury spent, vengeance achieved, Peter knelt in a pool of bloody mud. The fire that had burned so brightly and driven him into a frenzy had faded to shadows, leaving him wasted and cold and no less beautiful for its absence. He had turned from the High King, Narnia's sword and her greatest protector to my beloved brother Peter. His hands rested on his lap still clutching Rhindon, and there wasn't a bit of him that wasn't filthy. I slogged through thick, stinking muck made of spilled blood and dirt to kneel before him.

"Peter?"

He was shrouded in misery and pain. Dull, flat blue eyes stared at me as if from a void. His dirty, bruised cheeks were streaked with tears as he looked at me with swollen, bloodshot eyes that sent a silent plea for help and understanding. I knew immediately he needed me desperately, needed for me to take control and be the elder brother and king for a while as he tried to make sense of this sad waste of life and hope. It was the least service I could render.

"They killed Jett," he whispered in a voice devoid of emotion.

I realized that I was trembling when I laid my hand on his arm. He was bleeding from a dozen points from his nose to his leg, though none of the wounds seemed threatening. I'd never seen him like this before and it was frightening. Peter was one of the few people in the world who could genuinely scare me. He was so far beyond fatigue and hurt that I was certain he had no idea of what he was saying, and it struck me that he might be concussed. "I know, Peter. I know what they did. I'm so sorry. Sorry you had to see any of that."

"They served Jadis," Peter spoke on, his words slurring slightly. "Ed, they thought I was you and that you were her heir."

I gave his arm a little squeeze. "In a way they were right. I'm the only one in Narnia with anything of her left in me, thank Aslan. Let's worry about that later, brother. It's dangerous to stay here. We have to go home now."

His eyes wandered downwards and he saw the shattered blade in my grasp. His sadness seemed to deepen. "Shafelm . . ."

I smiled and shook my head. I had no regrets, for the sword he had given me as a birthday gift had served me very well indeed. "It saved my life. You can get me another one when we get home and I'll have Shafelm the Third. Come away now," I begged, struggling to my feet. I sheathed what remained of Shafelm and then gently pried Rhindon out of his stiff grasp. I hastily wiped it clean and slid the long blade back into its sheath on my left hip before I reached for him. "Please. Let me help you. There's too much blood here."

He reached up for me and clasped my hands. I hauled him upright and then wrapped one arm around his waist as I pulled his arm across my shoulders. Finally I was tall enough to support him this way and he leaned heavily against me. I guided him away from the corpse of Valerlan, away from this accursed place.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Kanell met us as we struggled with the front steps of the keep. The soldiers still standing were milling about, caring for the wounded and preparing to depart. Peter was weak and staggering as the rush of battle faded and left him completely drained. Standing a few steps below us, the Centaur captain steadied my brother with both hands, searching him for any signs of hurt or injury beyond the obvious. Finally he cupped Peter's face in his hands, dark against fair, and he smiled sadly at the expression he saw in my brother's eyes before gently releasing him.

"Majesty," he said, "this is yours. I took it from the guardsman Haigha."

He drew forth the knife I had made Peter, the Blue River steel that I had forged for him last year. I felt my throat tighten at the sight of the silvery blade because I knew the value my brother placed upon it. Peter sniffed faintly as he reached for the blade, then he hesitated.

"Hold it for me, Captain," he whispered. "I have no belt." Kanell retained the dagger as Peter spoke on. "We . . . we need to take what supplies we can. We must leave . . . quickly. Where are we? How far from Narnia?"

"We're in Ettinsmoor, Peter," I replied. "A day or so from the Northern Marches by Athan's best estimate."

"We have wounded," he said, looking shattered anew.

"They are being tended to, King Peter," said Kanell. "Sit, Majesty, and let us tend you as well."

Helpless and miserable beyond words, Peter fell more than sat. Xati and Pandicat joined us a moment later and together the two females ministered to my brother. Peterkins, wide-eyed and frightened, crept forward and rested his head on Peter's knee, wise enough for once simply to be quiet.

"How many are wounded, Captain?" I pressed Kanell. His voice was soft as he replied.

"Twenty-two Bats, among them Pa'ala Mivven. Flinder is badly wounded and I cannot say if Gicelus will live through the night. Most of us have light wounds. Five of our party are dead and we have the bodies of sixteen bats, and at our best guess nineteen more are missing, presumably dead."

I bit my lip, forcing myself to see who was not present. Sylvus, Nex, the Satyr archer Welend, Pauton, and . . . and Barin.

So many. So many valiant friends and cousins and brothers-in-arms. There was an empty feeling in me, as if something precious had been snatched away. I looked over at Peter's bent head, knowing he would take it hard.

"Don't tell him. I'll tell him."

Kanell followed my gaze. "If I may, Sire, for now don't tell him unless he asks. For what he has experienced, he will pay a heavy toll. He will need you now more than ever."

I nodded, knowing Kanell was right.

"King Edmund!"

I looked up as Brant and Onela approached. They nodded to the Centaur and then addressed me alone. Though they appeared sad, the grief that consumed me seemed to have passed them by. Death, I later learned, did not hold the same meaning for Dwarfs as it did for most other Narnians.

"We must return our kinsmen to our mother," said the elderly Red Dwarf.

With a tired nod I replied, "You have leave, good sirs."

"No," Brant snapped, his brow furrowing into a frown as he pointed a stubby, imperious finger at me. "_We_ must return our kinsmen to our mother. Come!"

They walked away, leaving me to blink in confusion at Kanell.

"Go with them," whispered the captain. "It is a great honor, Sire. Be silent unless asked otherwise and never speak of what you see save with a Dwarf."

"Watch Peter," I ordered then hurried as best I could to catch up with the short, stocky Dwarfs. We walked in silence through the tall, dewy grass, all the way back to the entrance of the cavern where waited Glendco, the third Red Dwarf archer. Graves had been dug on either side of the entrance, half in the cave, half out. Pauton and Barin lay beside them, their weapons and gear arrayed around them neatly.

I can tell of what followed now, though at the time I never spoke of the funeral save to say that I was there. Two Dwarfs are required to bury one, and so by asking (or telling) me to help him, Brant acknowledged me as his kinsman, preferring me to his own kind. Following whispered instructions, I assisted Brant in carefully arranging Barin's things in the grave - his axe, his pick, a length of rope, a lantern - all the things that were important to a miner. Then Brant instructed me to help lift Barin into the grave, and I was rather surprised that we set him in the hole face-down. Catching my expression, Brant asked,

"You would turn your back on your mother when you enter her embrace?"

That simple question explained so much to me and I understood a little better why death, that promise of life, held less pain for the Dwarfs. Their home was the earth, the thing they loved best, and so to be buried was simply to go home. Such was _revinim_ for these remarkable beings. We took turns shoveling dirt into the grave and Brant smoothed it over carefully so that in a few days it would be indistinguishable from the rest of the ground around it and Barin and Pauton could rest undisturbed. While we worked Onela and Glendco did the same for their fellow archer, the quarrels between Black and Red clans set aside for the time, and when we were done no heads were bowed and no tears were shed. Instead the Dwarfs simply said, "Welcome home."

"Welcome home," I echoed. Some might have thought the words to be callous, but in my growing understanding of Dwarfish ways I found them comforting. Still, I was a king and any funeral demanded I say something more. I reached for Shafelm before I remembered it was broken, so instead I drew Rhindon. It was an awkward motion, Peter's sword was too long for me, but I turned it point down and knelt there at the entrance of the cavern. My tired mind tried to form a fitting eulogy, but my words seemed inadequate.

"Aslan," I said softly, "welcome these good Dwarfs to your country. Their sacrifice has helped save my brother and Narnia."

My companions seemed satisfied by this and I bowed a final time to the fallen before we made our way back to Loy.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Our dead were buried outside the keep and not far from the cave with what honors we could give them. Their sacrifice honored us more, and their eternal presence in Ettinsmoor made that land hallowed. Our wounded we carried as tenderly as we could, the worst injured among the Bats were transported in baskets woven of soft grass while the rest rode upon Shikov. Flinder was swathed in blankets and tied to Xati's back. Athan carried Gicelus until the brave Faun breathed his last without ever having regained consciousness. We buried him in a copse of birch and aspen trees with two more of the Bats that did not live past dawn.

I know Peter felt guilty for being the cause of all this, as if Valerlan's attack and his subsequent kidnapping were somehow his fault. He could not speak when we buried Gicelus, but he knelt before the grave with the rest of us and his grief was so intense I thought he might pass out.

I didn't know what to do, how to reach him on that swift, anxious ride home, and I'll admit my helplessness frightened me. It was as if Peter himself had withered away even as his fury spent itself over the corpse of Valerlan, leaving nothing but pain behind. I was so focused on him that I remembered very little of the journey back. It took three days and two nights, and we barely stopped to rest even though we were all exhausted.

The only thing I could think to do, I did: I stayed with him every moment of our journey back to Narnia. If he wanted to talk, I listened, but mostly he was quiet as we headed south and east, trusting Kanell and the soldiers around us to guide us safely to our own land. Against all protocol we rode upon Kanell's broad back and we moved as quickly as we could with our wounded. Bats had been sent ahead to bring word to Narnia and to scout our route and they served as our sentries in case the Ettins attacked. Athan carried Pandicat and Peterkins. Finally the little Fox had developed sense enough to curb his tongue and not draw any attention to himself.

I remembered what it had been like for me when we had been crowned. Aside from going from a war refugee to a king in a matter of days, I had the added burden of dealing with the fact that I had been a traitor. Whispers and glances and snatches of rumor seemed to have followed in my wake. My own guilt compounded the problem until I had thought myself into an inescapable corner. Peter had been my salvation. He had kept by me and defied anyone to speak an unkind word, silenced rumors with a glare, listened as I spilled out my fears, offered advice such as he could give when I asked for it. And always there shone pride and love in his eyes when he looked my way. That faint, gentle smile that lit his eyes so brilliantly and which I had ignored for years took on such importance to me. Peter was my support, my foundation, and despite my litany of sins he had sustained me through those first few, dark months as more Narnians followed his example and gradually came around to seeing me in the same light as he did.

He had helped me to endure.

Now it was time for me to return the favor and be there for him. I kept him before me as we rode upon Kanell's broad back, my arms firmly around his waist. He looked perfectly miserable, and finally, when we stopped to rest and choke down some field rations, he asked me to switch positions with him. I was a little confused but compliant.

I let him give me a boost up onto the Centaur and as soon as Peter swung up behind me I understood. Strong, warm arms twined around my middle, enfolding me in his borrowed cape as well, and my brother the High King rested his weary head heavily on my shoulder. His legs tightened and he wrapped himself around me. I drew him in as closely as I could. I had never thought about it before, but comforting and warming me must have brought him a degree of solace and security as well. He had watched over us all his life and I knew for him it had become a necessity, an integral aspect of his personality. To have the ability to give him what he needed most was humbling and empowering at once, even if it was to do nothing more than to allow him to hold me.

I would not disappoint him. There was nothing I would not do for him. He didn't even need to ask. I would willingly give all he would take and more.

I covered Peter's hands with my own before reaching up to stroke the blond head resting against mine. We rode like that for a long time, communicating only through touch until, pressed close against my back, I could feel his stomach muscles tighten and his chest heaved as he began to weep. He did so quietly, a long, restrained display of grief. The heavy fabric of my doublet became soaked through as he sobbed. I felt my throat and chest tighten as feeling began to return to Peter. I knew the sensation. I had gone through a similar emotional upheaval after Jadis' perversions. It had seemed as if I would never be able to feel again and when I finally did the only thing I could feel were a thousand different types of pain I could neither understand nor name. I could still feel the echoes of that anguish, but I realized now that Peter had understood then what had happened and had done all he could for me. I would deal with it in my own time, and I would talk to Peter when I was ready . . . and when he was as well. Until then, I and my emotions would keep.

Leaning back into his hold, I closed my eyes, steeling myself against the desire to scream out for the senseless slaughter he had witnessed, for my poor brother who had done nothing to deserve these abuses, for the loyal soldiers that had died so valiantly to protect him. I wanted to, but I didn't. This was not about my grief, but Peter's. He clutched me so tightly at times I could barely breathe but I never moved or tried to ease his grip on me. I just settled back and let him vent, barely noticing as the soldiers of our party drew closer as if to offer what comfort they could.

He cried for what felt like an eternity, and all the while he held me close as I silently cried with him, for him.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Majesties," Kanell said, rousing me. I sat up straight with a little gasp, my motions waking Peter. We both blinked stupidly at the Centaur, having gotten nothing near enough rest. Kanell looked tired and gray even though his skin was almost coal black. He had marched the troop through the night, desperate to get to safety, and able Bats had flown far ahead to get word to Cair Paravel of what had happened and where we were heading.

"We are in Narnia."

I looked around, recognizing the craggy hills of the Northern Marches. The colors were richer, the air sweeter, and the sunshine seemed brighter as we returned to this, our kingdom. Peter made a little sound as he carefully dismounted. He didn't reach up to help me down, but he took a few steps deeper into Narnia. Clumsily, I clambered off of the Centaur's high back and I started when Peter fell heavily to his knees. For a moment I thought he had stumbled. My cloak fouled in the swords I wore as I tried to rush to his aid, but then I realized he deliberately knelt amongst the heather and the mountain thyme. I paused a few steps away and then slowly I crept forward until I bent my knee beside him. His eyes were closed and his hands were clasped and I barely caught his whispered prayer.

"Thank you, mighty Aslan, for answering my prayers."

I hastily bowed my head as I silently added, "And mine."

Then Peter bowed down so low that his forehead touched the earth and he began a tradition that would last through our age and all the way to the end of time: he kissed the ground of Narnia, this wonderful, blessed land made even more glorious still by his love. I followed his example, for it seemed a fitting act for a king to greet his land. From that time on, whenever we returned to Narnia be it from a war or state visit or just nipping down to visit Lune, our very first act was to kiss the land we held so dear.

My lips brushed the mossy stone before me, and when I sat back on my heels again, Peter was gazing at me.

His eyes were still red from crying and he was exhausted and vulnerable and absolutely magnificent. He could not see, could not understand what it was about himself that made our subjects willing to fight and die for him. He could not see his own extraordinary goodness and strength of character. If I made the people around me think, then Peter made the people around him want to be something better and worthier than they already were. I was no exception. I had challenged Jadis for his sake and I would have chased the Ettins to the Wild Lands of the North and beyond for him. There was no question in my mind that he was worth any cost, any sacrifice, and his inability to comprehend this made him that much more precious to me.

Without a word he quietly leaned into me, letting me support his weight as we stared at the low mountains that made the northern border of our kingdom. I put my arm around his shoulders and held him close and he covered my free hand with his own. Finally the morning sun felt warm upon me. There was no telling how long we sat there - minutes or hours, I could not tell - when a loud, harsh cry echoed off the hills. Peter gripped my hand as a Gryphon scout wheeled high above us, screaming out her delight at having found us.

Peter tried to stir. "We should . . ."

I held him in place with ease. "We're the kings here, Peter. Let them come to us."

Peterkins let out an excited shout and tore past us, down the slope and back up to report what we could all clearly see: a party was approaching. He ran back and forth at least three more times with levels of energy that were worthy of envy. There were several people on horseback, Centaurs, Animals, soldiers and scouts climbing towards us at a swift pace. Peter let out a little moan and hid his face against me for a moment, bracing himself. I smiled faintly.

"I won't let them fuss too badly," I promised.

He actually gave me a hint of a smile in return. "Neither will I."

Minutes later we could clearly see Susan and Oreius rushing ahead of their party in order to meet us. Lucy and Peridan were close behind. Susan was off her horse and running towards us before the mare even came to a stop. Her face was pale and frantic and she threw herself at us with a wild cry.

_"Peter!" _

She seized us both, an arm around each of us, and she smelled of roses and soap and she was everything that was best and beautiful. I didn't release Peter, though, until Lucy arrived moments later and I suddenly found my arms full of my little sister.

"Ed! Oh, Ed, we were so worried!" she cried, squeezing me tight.

"So was I," I admitted softly.


	35. Shattered

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Shattered**

A/N: Peridan, his family, and the situation bringing them to Narnia have been very generously lent to me by Thalion King's Daughter. Her lovely story _Only Children_ intertwines with _Thole _as seen through the eyes of Peridan's two sons, Jaer and Jaerin. Peter watching Edmund sleep was inspired by the1hobbit's piece of art _Midnight Musings_. The link for her Deviant Art site is in my profile if you care to take a look. Finally, Lion Chapel is borrowed (with blessings) from Almyra's glorious story _For Ever Kneel'd._

I must also thank Miniver for her help with this chapter. Her input has vastly improved it.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'The ninth hour of the day arrived.  
The brave Shieldings abandoned the cliff-top  
and the king went home; but sick at heart,  
staring at the mere, the strangers held on.  
They wished, without hope, to behold their lord . . .'_

_Beowulf_, lines 1600 – 1604

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Susan stayed close by me as Edmund went to help Lucy with the wounded. My youngest sister hurried about, administering her cordial with a steady hand. Presently we could hear Flinder's raspy voice and the enthusiastic squeaks of many Bats who were uncomfortable in such bright light. I listened to their high-pitched complaints knowing I should have been delighted that they were all saved, but I was numb to everything. Susan's presence didn't bring comfort. She was just there beside me. I couldn't understand it at all. Why was I so empty? Exhausted though I was I should have been able to feel . . . shouldn't I?

"What?"

I looked to my sister, realizing she had been talking. Susan was recounting the story of an attack on their party just as they entered the Marches, talk of wicked Dryads and a Werewolf and Hag and a Bear. I heard without comprehending, my thoughts too muddled to follow the tale closely, unable to bring myself to grow angry or indignant that my sisters' party had been assaulted within our own borders. She outlined their adventures and the wonderful news that Peridan had been knighted for defending his queens so courageously, the first in an order Lucy created on the spot. I could find nothing to say to this even though that good man had just achieved his life's goal.

"Your Majesties?"

I stared up at Oreius. The general was still suffering from the late-season cold he had caught from Lady Saera. His nose was red and his eyes were watering, his voice hoarse from coughing. I supposed I couldn't have looked much better, only I could boast bruises and burns as well.

"Your brother asks for everyone's attention."

There was a suppressed excitement about him. He helped Susan up carefully and then I took the Centaur's extended arm and he hauled me to my feet, mindful of my injured leg. Without releasing me he studied me closely, searching deeply for the hurt he knew was there. I leaned against him for a moment, just as I had that night at Caldron Pool when I left Narnia for the Western Wild. Of all the Narnians Oreius was my closest friend and the nearest thing I had to a parent besides Aslan. He must have been out of his mind with worry this past week.

"I'm sorry," I whispered sadly, meaning it.

"As am I, my king," he replied softly, knowing how deeply I regretted everything that had happened. The look he gave me told me that he understood, probably more than I did.

Susan's small hand on my arm drew my attention. She smiled upon us both in silent understanding before motioning to where Edmund waited. He stood on a flat rock that raised him a foot or two off the ground and he gestured to Kanell.

"Kneel before me," he ordered, initiating the ceremony I had established two years before when we fought off the minions of the Rebel Trees.

Kanell froze, stunned to recognize what was about to happen, and he would have remained motionless had not Oreius coughed and broken the spell. Xati slapped Kanell's flank and shoved him forward. It was a moment of levity and I smiled faintly, wishing I could enjoy it as much as the rest of the troop did.

"Thank you, Captain Xati," said Edmund, promoting the archer on the spot. A ripple of excitement and delight swept through the crowd and it was Xati's turn to be astonished.

The towering black Centaur seemed suddenly shy as he placed himself before my brother. Edmund drew Shafelm II with a dull, off-key ring and held the broken blade in both hands. He gave a small nod, waiting for the overawed captain to obey, and Kanell abruptly seemed to wake up and he bowed low in the fashion of his people. With his blade reduced a good ten inches, Edmund had to reach far forward to tap Kanell's shoulders as he called out in a clear voice,

"Rise, Sir Kanell of the Ettin's Keep, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Table." He sheathed Shafelm, and, just as he had done for Oreius, he stood up on his toes to kiss the top of the Centaur's head twice. I was transported back to that moment, to an echo of the pride and joy and relief that had filled me and made me kiss my brother thus on that stormy day in spring. My breath hitched. What I would not give to be back there right now.

"Noble soldiers of Narnia," called Edmund, "faithful and beloved subjects, I give you Sir Kanell of the Ettin's Keep, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Table!"

A cheer rose up from all throats save mine. I felt an ache, wishing I could give Sir Kanell his due. Nostalgia almost overwhelmed me. What I would have given for simpler times, before being witness to senseless slaughter and brutality. It had not been war at Jadis' castle, but murder. Even all my adventures and hardships in the Western Wild seemed paltry to the grief and guilt that plagued me now. I had not deserved this. Narnia had not deserved this. Sweet Lion, why had this happened? Why had so many people died?

My arm was seized in a powerful, gentle grip as Oreius kept me from falling. Peridan was instantly at my other elbow and together they lead me gasping and choking away from the celebration. The next thing I knew I was sitting down and Susan was holding a cup of wine for me to drink. My hands were trembling too much to hold the cup myself and I did not raise my eyes to look at the anxious people surrounding me. Her voice was soft upon my ears, a sweet litany of reassurance that all was well. I only wished that I could believe her.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I don't remember anything of the journey back to Cair Paravel. Susan later told me I was in shock, that I was like a sleepwalker. I rode, I ate, I talked rarely, I moved about like one lost in a dream. I know I met Pa'ala Mivven before she returned to the Lantern Waste. I recall that the Bat frowned in concern and I heard her admonish Edmund to make certain he did not to leave my side. I was there when a severely chastised Peterkins was escorted before Edmund by Sir Giles to render his apologies for disobeying my brother's orders. I saw Jaer Peridanson very briefly and I could not understand why he had been allowed on so dangerous a task. These were all just brief flashes of memory, images that rose to the fore, and then faded to naught again, leaving me in a quiet daze.

And then I just woke up one morning in my own bed. Edmund lay next to me, fast asleep and using my extended arm as his pillow. For a long while I just listened to him breathing, watching him dream. He seemed so small. So young. He _was_ so young and I wasn't much better.

Confused, I took stock of myself. I was very stiff and sore and my right thigh ached, though it wasn't anything I couldn't manage. I'd been hurt worse in the past. My wrists were painful, and I raised my free arm to have a look. From the base of my hand and halfway up my forearm my arm was heavily bruised. Even in the shadowy light of approaching dawn I could easily see the marks where ropes had bound and chaffed my arms.

Edmund shifted, muttering and frowning. He was always a restless sleeper, but something about his expression, about the darkness, stirred my hazy thoughts.

"_Consider it done."_

Memory rushed up and hit me like a physical blow. I was assaulted by images: Ettins, ice, blood, darkness more complete than I had ever experienced, a long and brutal fight, death and more death and murder . . .

I remembered everything. Fear. Hatred. Lethal intent.

I had sought revenge.

I had killed out of hate.

Deliberately, furiously, I had taken a life for my own satisfaction.

I felt an icy horror fill me, chilling me to my very soul. I stared at the ceiling, my chest tight and painful as the full realizations of my actions struck me.

Was this what it felt like to be a murderer?

I must have jerked or made a noise, because Edmund lifted his head, blinking at me with bleary eyes.

"Peter?" he rasped.

I drew away. I did not want him to touch me. I felt suddenly filthy both inside and out. It seemed that by touching me he would be tainted by my sins.

"Peter?"

"No," I heard myself say. "Leave me alone."

Half asleep but completely bewildered, Edmund sat up. "What's wrong?"

Everything. Me. Had I actually sent Edmund alone after Hatta? What had I been thinking? What kind of brother and king was I?

"Leave me alone," I repeated, turning away from his anxious expression.

Turning away from him.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

What followed was the worst, darkest period of my life. I refused to talk about what had happened to me at the hands of the Ettins. How could I tell these loving friends and family that I had conducted myself as lowly as our enemies? I avoided people as much as I could, drove them away from me with my manner, isolated myself from all that I loved. Guilt devoured me. I could not sleep well, plagued as I was by nightmares of the caverns. I was short-tempered and snappish with everyone from Silvo to Lucy to an ambassador from Lune. The only solace I could find was on the training grounds, where the physical effort of being a warrior took me away from the darkness of my own conduct.

I trained ceaselessly. If I wasn't in classes or performing royal duties, I could be found on the training grounds. I rose at all hours, leaving Edmund but not my nightmares behind as I pushed myself to the breaking point. I did not want to talk. I did not want their pity. I did not deserve forgiveness. I just wanted to be alone.

For weeks this went on. My many bruises faded but my conscience festered. Susan tried to reach me to no avail, vainly attempting to distract me and keep me from brooding. Lucy begged me to come down to Lion Chapel with her and I tersely refused. I saw the hurt in their faces, hated myself for causing it, but I could not seem to help myself or hold my tongue. Edmund alone watched me in silence. I don't know if he understood, but I didn't care, either. All I knew was guilt and shame and that I loathed myself and what I had done. I had slaughtered the Ettin prince. I had deliberately endangered my brother. I had brought murder upon my own subjects.

The depth of the hurt I had caused became clear one morning as Edmund and I readied to head down to the training grounds. I was silent and distant as I had been for the past few weeks when Edmund abruptly confronted me.

"Do you want me to leave?" he demanded sharply, barring my way.

"What?"

"I'll go back to my own room. Is that what you want?"

It wasn't, but I couldn't think of an answer as I stared into his eyes. I had wounded him deeply with my coldness. I abruptly realized that he had made every effort to give me support and comfort and he had never once criticized me through these few dark weeks. He had stayed close beside me even when I was at my worst.

"Fine," he snapped, turning away from me. "I'll help Martil shift my things. Pray make my excuses to Oreius. I'm sure he'll understand."

He strode away, leaving me alone. I didn't know what to do. The same isolation and fear that had been my constant companions in the caverns seized me in an icy grip. This was my brother, my king, who had risked all by pursuing the Ettins in order to save me. A band seemed to tighten around my breast and the enormity of the situation threatened to overwhelm me. Should I go after him? He was furious and rightly so. For one helpless moment I stood poised, wishing I had the strength to chase after him, and then I numbly made my way to the training grounds.

There was no one there yet, which came as a relief. Instinctively I began the exercise routines which my body knew by rote. It was easy to lose myself in the physical excess. I felt lost in every way already. The tightness in my chest only increased as I worked. Soon I was sweating and exhausted and no matter how hard I pushed myself it never seemed enough to let me escape myself.

Hoof beats. I knew Oreius was here. Like Edmund he had said nothing to me once I had refused to speak. He had not pressed me for information, but rather he had bided his time and waited for me to speak, trying to help me work through the confusion of my own emotions.

Panting heavily, I faced him. To my surprise he was alone. There was a fierce look in his eye that I recognized. He was mightily displeased and I instantly knew that I was the source of his displeasure.

He drew his swords as he stepped onto the grounds. The metallic ring of sharp steel and my gasping breaths were the only sounds for a few moments, and then with an earsplitting shout he attacked.

I whirled to meet his charge, surprised at the strength of the twin blows that landed on my raised shield. This was not practice. This was not play. This was battle. Oreius outclassed me in size and power and skill and ability, but there was no way he could have matched my level of emotion. We went at it full force and I held nothing back. I had no reason to. Fury, that hated passion, rose up in me just as it had when I faced Valerlan. The wild force held in check by training and discipline and self-control erupted once again.

The only difference now was that Oreius did not fear me.

His swords arced towards my head. I was not wearing a helm and I dodged to the side. The motion was familiar and I thought of Loy Keep and the wild gleam in Valerlan's dark eyes as he tried to kill Edmund. There was no lust or greed in Oreius' expression, no randomness in his strikes, and in every way he was different from the Ettins. He fought to wear me out, driving me to the breaking point.

I attacked as he himself had taught me, with sword, shield, body, and mind. He was not an easy target, large as he was, and his skill at avoiding my blows only added to my frustration. The contest was mercifully short - I had exhausted my reserves long ago. The only residue left within me was pain and loneliness.

I swung my blade level for the Centaur's vulnerable mid section. Oreius stepped into the strike, dropping his left sword as he seized my right arm. An iron grip clamped down on my right wrist and twisted. I shouted in pain and indignation, Rhindon falling from my grasp, and I instinctively countered by swinging the point of my shield at him. In a lightning-quick motion Oreius released my arm and slapped me full across the face. Pain exploded through my head and the next thing I knew was that I was gasping on the ground. I started to rise when a large, iron-shod hoof was planted firmly on my chest, pinning me with ease. I stared up at my general, my friend, finally driven to tears. But unlike my kidnappers, General Oreius had no grand plans or schemes, no malicious intent. He was here to confront me and to force me to confront myself and the guilt destroying me.

He did not fear me. He loved me.

Slowly, the hoof was withdrawn and Oreius lowered himself to the ground beside me, helping me to free my arm of the shield's straps. The moment I could move I lunged into his hold, horrified with myself, but he held me most carefully, gently stroking my hair as he let me cry myself out just as Edmund had a month before.

Edmund . . .

"I'm sorry," I gasped, unable to stop the tears. Like my fury they had been building up too long to stem. "Sorry . . ."

He eased me back, holding me at arms' length. There was no need to feel shame over tears in his presence. Oreius knew how devastating this role of being a warrior could be. "It was none of your doing. You've done naught but survive a terrible ordeal, King Peter."

"I've been horrible," I insisted, my breaths hitching.

"You have reacted. For what you have endured, this is typical and not unexpected. Tell me why."

I swallowed, trying to find the words. They fell far short of expressing what I truly felt. "I . . . Oreius, I killed Valerlan out of hate. I murdered him. He was dying. Helpless. I didn't have to do that. He was a person. I knew him. I didn't kill him to protect Narnia. I killed him because he ordered Storr to kill Jett. Because he served Jadis and Jadis hurt Edmund. I -" I shook my head, unable to go on.

Oreius seemed to understand. "This was war, Peter. Undeclared, dishonorable, unprovoked, but war nonetheless. Their conduct was as much an act of war as had they marched upon Cair Paravel and challenged us in our home." His gentle tone belied his words. "Just because you knew him does not make Valerlan any less deserving of death. Was the outcome any different from what would have been? He forged his own destiny by his deeds and his goals, and you were merely the instrument through which fate chose to act." He smiled a little sadly and I wondered if he had ever gone through this nightmarish series of responses. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Put aside this guilt, Peter. You cannot save the whole world."

Fresh tears burned my eyes and my vision blurred. Oreius moved his hand to the back of my neck and he drew me close once again.

"So for one moment in battle you were selfish and put yourself before Narnia," he said softly. "When will you see, good my king, that you _are _Narnia?"

At his last words I was completely undone. I had no strength or will to combat his wisdom, and the passion within me was finally satisfied.


	36. Remade

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Remade**

A/N I must extend my thanks to acacia59601 and floppyearsthebunny. Their reviews of the last chapter gave me some excellent ideas for this one. Jear, Jaerin and Rickat are on loan from Thalion King's Daughter. Lion Chapel is borrowed from Almyra. My thanks also to the1hobbit and the wonderful artwork which she drew to accompany _Thole_. I'm fortunate to have some outstanding beta readers who have contributed a great deal to this and other stories. And lastly, ten thousand thanks to all my readers who have stuck with me through writer's block and grufull Ettins and a long, dark journey for our kings.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'. . . that high-born king kissed Beowulf  
and embraced his neck, then broke down  
in sudden tears.'_

_Beowulf_, lines 1871 - 1873

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The silence was unbearable.

I missed Peter's quiet chatter as I helped him into the heavy, quilted tunic which we both wore under our armor. Normally he was talking and teasing me because_ I_ was the one who couldn't talk in the morning. That he was miserable and depressed and withdrawn did not surprise me. The day we had arrived back in Narnia, as Peter lapsed into a numb stupor right before our eyes, Oreius had drawn me and my sisters aside and warned us that this would probably happen. It was shock, a natural reaction to the horrors Peter had endured. That we expected a reaction, though, did not go far towards making it more bearable.

Better than anyone I understood what he was experiencing. I had wanted to react this same way after Beruna, but Peter would not let me. By his mere presence he had forced me to push through the emotions gripping me and I had faced down my demons. Like Jadis' blood they lingered still, but they did not command me. I wanted to do the same for him but I didn't know how and so I stayed by him every moment I could. It wasn't easy. I could deal with an angry and cranky and snappish Peter. Lion knows he had done the same for me for years on end and I was just returning the favor. What I could not deal with was the cold, uncaring silence that fell between us.

I secured the last tie on his back and without a sound Peter moved towards the door. Something within me snapped when he didn't have the decency to say so much as 'thank you.' Fury erupted – fury at the situation, at him, at being ignored despite my constant companionship. I had not slept well and it was an hour before we normally rose to go train and I was not in the mood for this detached coolness.

I set myself directly before him and demanded, "Do you want me to leave?"

He blinked as if he'd just roused. I had caught him completely off guard.

"What?"

He had seen none of what he had done over the course of the last month. That alone set me over the edge.

"I'll go back to my own room," I offered sharply. "Is that what you want?"

Peter stared, shocked anew. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.

"Fine." I turned my back on him. "I'll help Martil shift my things. Pray make my excuses to Oreius. I'm sure he'll understand."

The moment I said this I felt a sinking panic in the core of my being. I did not want to move back to my lonely rooms. I considered these chambers we shared just as much mine as Peter did, but when there was no answer save the door closing behind Peter I knew it was too late to go back. I retreated to a corner of the room, brokenhearted and feeling helpless in ways that Jadis or minions or the Ettins had never accomplished. I felt terribly sorry for myself for a few moments until I realized that I had just named my own best hope for resolution. I dashed the tears from my eyes – for Peter could move me to tears with a glance - and let anger replace despair.

I had taken quite enough of this. It was time for reinforcements.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

_"Oreius!"_

Bursting in on a soldier, let alone a Centaur, is not the smartest move one can execute, but I was so wound up I felt a match for anyone, even the general. I was far beyond caring, anyway. Luckily Oreius was already up and getting dressed or my fist on his door would have roused him. I was greeted with a curious look and a bow. I knew I surprised him simply because I was never, never so alert this time of morning and at best I communicated in grunts, not whole sentences.

"King Edmund?"

That was all it took. In one fierce torrent all my frustration and fears came pouring out in a long, loud tirade.

"I have had enough of Peter!" I shouted. "I know he's hurting, I know he needs my love and support and I know it's the very least I can do for him after all he's done for me but I _cannot_ abide his treatment of me or my sisters any longer! Lion's mane! He would never tolerate such conduct out of me and I won't tolerate it out of him anymore!"

And on, and on, and on. Oreius watched me pace back and forth in his rooms, listening patiently as I unloaded my anxiety and irritation with my brother, waving my arms and stamping my feet all the while. I was fairly certain half the palace was roused at my outburst. The Centaur general let me fume until I was worn out and there were tears in my eyes again as I thought that all my efforts to help were not enough and my brother was lost. Somehow I ended up in his gentle hold, crying against his chest that I did _not_ want to go to my room. He let me finish my tantrum and when I was coherent and capable of rational thought again he sat me down on his huge bed. If anything of what I had just said or any aspect of my conduct confused him, he gave no indication.

"Calm yourself, King Edmund," he said softly and in absolute contrast to my fury. "Pray do not forget Aslan's wisdom when he reminded you this autumn past that you are but a child still. You have shouldered a mighty burden and born up well. Allow me to address the issue."

It was such a relief to share this worry, though I knew he was just as anxious for Peter as the rest of us. He cuffed me lightly on the back of the head as Centaurs are wont to do to show their affection and I managed a small smile, feeling myself gradually relax.

"Rest here awhile, Majesty. I will go down to the training grounds."

I nodded, drawing a shuddering breath. I watched him collect a few things and he headed for the door.

"Oreius?" I called after him.

He paused, looking back at me.

"Knock some sense into him, will you?"

The Centaur bowed, and something about the faint smile on his angular face told me that was a command he intended to obey.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was not an easy vigil. Curiosity and anxiety eventually overwhelmed me and, unable to bear not knowing any longer, I slipped out of the general's rooms and hurried to the training grounds. Midway there, in the faint light of dawn, I spotted Jaer and Jaerin, Sir Peridan's sons, on their way to their lessons under Rickat. They were developing into uncommonly good comrades and I enjoyed their company, though duty kept me from spending as much time with them as I would have liked. Hearing me coming, they waited, waving as soon as they recognized me.

"Good morning, King Edmund," they chorused, both of them bowing rather awkwardly. They still weren't used to the Narnian bow, which differs from the way they used to bow in Archenland.

"Good morn," I replied. Once again I was struck by the subtle differences between Narnia and Archenland, for we never said 'good morning.'

"Are you training today?" wondered Jaerin, looking me up and down.

I realized I wasn't dressed for it, never having gotten past the first layer of clothing, and I shook my head. "I don't know yet. That depends on General Oreius and my brother."

That confused them a bit but they hurried their steps to keep pace with me. We passed a few guards moving about on their patrols but I grew increasingly concerned when we could see the barracks surrounding the training grounds but could hear no sound within. I bolted ahead without a word, almost frantic, and I skidded to a halt in the archway leading to the large court where we were taught to be warriors.

Oreius looked up from where he lay on the ground holding Peter. Their weapons lay scattered about, discarded on the flagstones, and my brother was very still and quiet as Oreius clasped him against his chest.

The two boys caught up with me, breathless.

"King Edmund! What – what's wrong?" gasped Jaerin, alarmed.

I gestured sharply for them to be silent. Jaer took one glance at the scene before him and hissed for his younger brother to hush. I turned to both boys and pointed away from the arch.

"Over there," I ordered, leading the way.

Jaer followed me silently, clearly unsure and concerned. When Jaerin didn't budge Jaer seized his younger brother by the collar and hauled him along.

"I want you to find Captain Celer right now," I said, determined to protect Peter's privacy since we had so little of it in our lives. "Quickly and quietly. Tell him no one is to enter the training grounds until I say otherwise."

"But -" Jaerin started.

"Quiet!" hissed his older brother, and under our combined glares he fell silent.

I wasn't done with them yet. "You are not to speak of what you've seen without permission. Is that understood?"

They were astonished at my vehement tone, but they realized that right now I was not just their friend but their king and as my subjects they were bound to obey. Not surprisingly, Jaer nodded first and his brother followed suit a moment later. Satisfied, I motioned for them to leave. "Go find Captain Celer. Quickly. Do whatever he tells you to do after."

I watched them head for the barracks before I turned back to the courtyard, satisfied that they would obey. Oreius looked up again as I entered and he nodded for me to come closer. I crept forward, my fears coming to the fore once again. Peter lay in the Centaur's hold, partially braced up by one of Oreius' forelegs. I dropped to one knee beside them. Peter drew a shuddering breath and slowly pulled far enough away from Oreius that he could look at me.

"Peter?"

He looked awful, pale and tired with a livid red mark on the right side of his face, but there was a quiet calm in him that had been missing for a month. His blue eyes were dull but no longer soulless and the gentle confidence that Valerlan had destroyed with his sadistic treatment while not restored, was clearly not beyond repair. Peter wanted to be Peter again.

He reached out and I took his hand. He extended further and gripped my forearm then his grip shifted and he yanked me in close. Cool, hard armor felt familiar and right in my arms and around me as he wrapped me in his embrace. He was trembling. We leaned heavily against Oreius, a tight jumble of limbs, but the general did not mind in the least.

Peter was too worn out even to cry, though I knew he wanted to. Instead he held me crushing tight, seeming to forget I wasn't wearing armor. I would be bruised on the morrow but I didn't mind. I did not want or need an apology. Words were useless. All I wanted was my brother back.

He kissed my hair, a blessing from the High King. I realized that he had not kissed me that way since my birthday. It had been far too long. I leaned heavily against his shoulder, glad my brother was finally home, and I gave silent thanks to the Lion.

"Don't leave," Peter whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please don't leave, Edmund."

"Never," I promised.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

When I woke up alone again, I knew exactly where he was.

I had no notion of the time except that it was too early by far. Rising, I put slippers on my feet and a robe around my shoulders and I stalked through the dimly-lit castle, heading down and to the east. The guards knew how useless it was to talk to me right now and so they didn't even try, but I could feel their bright eyes on me as I passed and I knew that they approved even though I grumbled every step of the way.

I wound my way through the great hall and down the back stairs all the way to the long corridor where Lucy and I had discovered the charming little room we now called Lion Chapel. Coming back to himself, Peter spent a great deal of time here. I slipped into the chapel, well aware of what I would find waiting for me inside. Peter had eschewed the cushioned seats and sat on the silk rug the Tisroc had sent us in honor of the first anniversary of Beruna. I couldn't blame him. Aslan knows I had spent my fair share of this past autumn sitting in exactly that same spot. There was a certain warmth and comfort to be found in this place, this sanctuary. Here, in this room blessed by Aslan we could escape or embrace our roles as monarchs depending upon our need.

I didn't know if he was praying for forgiveness or strength or understanding or if he simply sought the peace and shelter of the little chapel, but he was there as often as he had been down in the training yard last month. He did not stir as I closed the ornate door behind me. The only light came from the elaborately wrought lamp hanging overhead - Dwarf work and very old - that cast a circle of golden light all around him. When I sat down close beside Peter he let his breath out in a little sigh. He was much himself now, though there was a lingering hurt that faded only very slowly. I had never seen him so despondent for so long and I didn't know what to do beyond show him he had my love and constancy.

"So I've been thinking," I said abruptly, as if it wasn't well past midnight and an indecent hour for anyone but Bats and Owls and Opossums to be awake. I automatically dropped my voice to a whisper as if we were exchanging confidences. "What would you say to some sort of litany we could say to Aslan, some kind of prayer? We could recite it when we wanted to say something but don't have the right words."

That seemed to spark something in him, I noted with a rush of gratitude. He stirred, blinking, still looking so careworn.

"Like what?" he wondered, equally quiet.

Put on the spot, I wracked my brain. "Well . . . going into battle, for example. Something short and to the point like, 'Aslan, please don't let me die!'"

To my satisfaction and delight, Peter actually laughed. It was a short sound, but his amusement was genuine. "I think we say that anyway. Perhaps something a bit more . . . poetic?" he suggested.

"La," I agreed quickly. "That's where you come in. There's a lot more poetry residing in you than me."

His expression was distant, as if he searched within his own self for the sense of fear and daring he experienced before entering a conflict. We did so knowing each battle could be our last. In defense of Narnia we went gladly, knowing the worth of what we defended. What kept us from breaking and running? How did we pluck up the courage to enter the mêlée time and again? Battle was a horrifying experience and it had its own . . . not beauty, but appeal. In part it was duty that drove us, another part was honor, and yet another part was that we did not want to be thought of as cowards. These things mattered, for Peter had become a knight before he became a king, and I had earned the right to call myself a knight before I could call myself a king.

When he finally spoke, Peter's soft voice was as far away as his expression, as if he saw something deeper and greater than this hallowed place.

"Aslan, Great Lion, defend us in combat. Safeguard our lives or welcome us to your land."

I sat in silence and let the simple words wash over me. Fill me. Fulfill me.

"Exactly," I breathed. "Say it again, Peter."

He pursed his lips, dropping his head as the dam he had built to contain his emotions was slowly eroded away. "Aslan, Great Lion, defend us in combat. Safeguard our lives or welcome us to your land."

"Amen," I finished softly, inching closer to him. I was desperate for Peter to believe it himself, so I begged, "Again."

There were tears in his eyes and his voice was reduced to a broken undertone. "Aslan, Great Lion, defend us in combat. Safeguard our lives or welcome us to your land."

"Amen."

"Amen," he echoed.

I edged nearer still, wishing I had dragged along some blankets when I left our room. We would have to store some in here for nights like this. This wasn't the first time one of us had sat vigil in here and it certainly wasn't the last. I dared bring up the subject that had brought us to this point. "He did, Peter. Aslan did just that. He defended us both and kept us safe. He helped me to reach you. He gave you the strength to endure."

"I doubted him, Ed. I doubted Aslan."

I shook my head, feeling something of an expert on being forgiven and therefore in a position to lecture. "Tell me you weren't terrified. I was. When we found blood and bones in Jadis' castle, I panicked. You think I didn't doubt? I thought you were dead, Peter. When we found out you might be alive I would have done anything to get you back."

He leaned against me. "I knew you would come."

"So was it doubt or fear you felt? Do you honestly think Aslan will do anything but praise you for surviving and protecting Narnia from invasion?"

"I ordered Valerlan to thole, and he bade me do the same."

I recognized the word from our grandfather. Only Peter could get away with such a word in conversation. "You did, Peter. You endured. You held on and stayed true to Aslan's word, to _revinim_. And to yourself, brother. That's all that matters to me." I leaned over so as to look into his face. "There's more to combat than swords."

He sniffed loudly, fighting tears. It was a losing battle. I reached for him, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close to me. I would have given anything to take this grief from him and he knew it and so he shared what he could of it with me. Strong arms clung to me tightly, crushing close. I was his anchor, his base, just as he was my leader and protector. He had wept for Vimal and Lonn and Boris and Tyxy and the Apis cousins and for his beloved Jett, slaughtered right before his eyes. Now, finally, he quietly cried for Peter Pevensie and the nightmare he had lived through. Oh, thank Aslan, he had _lived_.

Peter's voice was barely audible. "Thank you."

I shook my head, drawing back to gaze at him. "You don't have to thank me, Peter. You're my brother and my High King."

I did not need to say more. We were silent for a while, each of us grateful for the other's presence. Eventually I stirred, nudging him a bit.

"Maybe a prayer to give thanks next. Thanks for victory and our lives and . . . whatever else we need."

"I already have one," Peter replied so seriously I missed the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You do? A thanksgiving prayer?" I was surprised.

"Yes. You've heard it, but I've had reason to say it time and again. Right now, even."

I frowned, wondering what he could mean. "Out with it, then, Pevensie!" I ordered.

Peter smiled faintly and quoth, "Aslan, thank you for giving me an easily aggravated, clever, and wise brother."

I sat with my mouth open, recognizing the words and praying he didn't slap a kiss on me as he had the day I showed him the _Codex Consors_. Peter's smile slowly widened at my gaping expression.

"Well," I huffed finally, trying to recover, "I don't know about 'easily aggravated.'"

"I do," he snorted and we both chuckled. It was a moment of confidence and warmth. At last we were both at our ease and I knew Peter would be able to sleep again.

"Are you still heading for Glasswater at sunrise?" I pressed. "I mean - strawberries? Really, Peter!"

"Susan might drive me out of my mind with all this decorating if I don't," he answered, sighing in unspoken exasperation. "It's a party! A party that's a fortnight away! Why so much fuss?"

I shrugged, about as ill-equipped to understanding girls as he was, if not more so. "You know what she'd say: 'It's our anniversary!'"

With a dramatic groan he shook his head. "Remind me to elope if I ever find a girl I want to marry."

He was joking, but for some reason I could not define, the notion of my brother running off to get married was disturbing to me. I did my best to hide my reaction to his innocent words. He didn't notice, but said,

"Glasswater is the safest place for me right now. Will you come along?"

I wanted dearly to accept the invitation, but I had other obligations. "I can't. Word came from Kellsalter after we dined last night. The engineers are calling for a crowned head. _Again_," I added in an annoyed mutter.

A smile played at his lips. "Then you must go. I'll just be two days, three at the most."

"Take three," I advised. "Susan was talking flowers the other day."

He shuddered. "Three it is."

I looked up as I felt the weight of his gaze upon me.

"Can you believe it's been two years since we came to Narnia?"

I thought back on what I had been and what I had become, the lessons learned, the love gained, the forgiveness granted. We had come so far, all of us, but me most of all. I smiled at him and it was my turn to press my lips to his forehead, to return the blessing he had so often bestowed upon me.

"La, King Peter, I can."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_'But generally the spear  
is prompt to retaliate when a prince is killed . . .'_

_Beowulf_, lines 2029 - 2030


End file.
